Forgive Us Our Trespasses
by TheMusicalDetective
Summary: In London's Underworld, dark dealings happen every day. Still, she had never expected this. When Undertaker leaves a macabre message in her morgue, pathologist Aria Sinclair is dragged into a world she never thought possible. With the assistance of her sister and the enigmatic Mr. Spears, Dr. Sinclair will have to keep her wits in order to see this story to its grim conclusion.
1. Chapter 1

Hello, and welcome to my story! I'd like to thank anybody who was interested enough (or bored enough) to click on this. This story was originally written to entertain me and a friend, but I thought I'd share it with the internet and see how it goes. I, of course, do not own Black Butler or its characters (much to my dismay), but all of the original characters in this story are the progeny of my imagination. The plot for this story was brainstormed by myself and the aforementioned friend on a rainy day on a gravel road out in the middle of nowhere. I took it upon myself to enhance our ideas and came up with this. I have many chapters written, but it is still a work in progress, so I will not be uploading it all a once. Feedback is appreciated and anticipated!

I hope you enjoy the fruit of my labors!

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The logs in the fireplace weakened and cracked, sending flurrying sparks up into the chimney of the comfortable townhouse. It was a late night in April, and the weather had been unseasonably frigid for weeks, but in the warmth of the neatly furnished sitting room, the occupants did not feel the wind's chill nor the fog's choking hold.

The pot of tea on the table between the two people in this room was almost dry, and the biscuits had been exhausted long ago. The atmosphere was amiable, but there was an underlying tension in the woman's voice as she asked her next question.

"And your sickness, how are you holding up?"

Her voice was all softness and understanding, but even an outsider could tell that this subject was a delicate one.

The young man across from her shifted in his seat, his gaze sliding to the embers of the fire. He paused before answering, as though considering the smoldering extinction of the lightly smoking wood, its sturdy brown exterior now transformed into a sickly black. After this brief moment of hesitation, his eyes met hers and his mouth opened in response.

"I have been doing well, all things considered."

He was a quiet soul, who hardly ever raised his voice. Indeed, there was a gentle tone to his speech, as though everything he said was of precious import. It led one to pause and listen, lest they miss the wisdom of the message.

The woman gave a sad smile and nodded lightly.

"You are a brave man, Alan. Many others would be in hysteria. I know the pain of your illness is increasing as time goes on. The thought of the inevitable outcome must cause you unease."

He moved not a muscle, but the look in his vibrant green eyes told more than anything how much he agreed with her words.

"Everyone is scared of death, Dr. Sinclair. I am no different. Death is the inescapable conclusion of all existence; no one can avoid it. Whether one lives a peaceful life or a painful one, it will come to an end all the same. I suppose more than death, I fear being alone. Throughout life, one is always alone. Yet, I experience a poignant sense of dread when I imagine writhing in pain before finally expiring in deafening solitude. It seems such a horrifying way to leave this world."

The brown haired woman seemed to contemplate his words before locking her eyes with his once more. The shade of her irises was a perfect duplicate of his, yet the two were not related in any way, by blood or by bond. Still, they shared an understanding of one another that many people could never hope to come to.

At length, the woman spoke once more.

"I think, Alan, that you have hit upon mankind's innermost fear. To be well and truly alone is a fate that no person, at least of my acquaintance, would wish upon himself. Indeed, throughout life a person does all he can to ensure that he will never be alone. Friendships are forged, marriages are entered, children are had, and pets are acquired. The looming darkness of complete and utter isolation is instinctively avoided from birth, yet with death comes, not only the fear of the unknown, but the knowledge that it must be faced alone. Still, there is a small comfort in what you have stated. Since the embrace of death is inevitable, you are not the only person to have experienced this type of fear, and will certainly not be the last. This collectivism may provide a small, logical comfort, but the real peace will come when the person experiencing this end finally accepts his fate and embraces it."

The young man raised an eyebrow. "Are you telling me to welcome death and loneliness with open arms, Doctor?"

"I'm telling you that when the time comes, no one will be able to give you peace but yourself."

Alan's lips tightened into a hard line as his eyes took on a far away look. As the clock on the mantle monotonously ticked away the seconds, the man's features softened until a look of serenity replaced that of tension. His head inclined in a small nod, as though he had finally resolved himself upon a difficult course of action.

When their eyes met again, there was nothing of the haunted shadows that had been lurking there when he had first walked through her door. The exquisite eyes she gazed upon now held nothing but the kindness of character that Alan exude perpetually.

Her chest swelled with feeling. It was moments like this that made her love her job.

As if responding to a silent signal, both individuals stood simultaneously and shook hands.

"Thank you, Doctor. Our sessions have really helped me."

"I'm always happy to have you, Alan. Same time next week?"

The man smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Dr. Sinclair laughed. "Marvelous. Then I'll have to pick up some more biscuits. I think we ate them all."

Alan chuckled. "You do that. Goodnight, Lynn."

"Goodnight, Alan. Be careful."

"I always am."

And with that, the slim brunette left the psychiatrist's home, doubtless heading for his own, ready for a good night's sleep.

Lynn Sinclair watched him go before heading for her bedroom. The night was still relatively young, and she had one more appointment before she herself could turn in.

Striding over to her vanity, she removed the pair of spectacles she had been wearing and opened a drawer, pulling out a small case, that, if not for the size, would have looked like the case for her spectacles.

Sitting down at the vanity, she opened this case, revealing its contents. Inside, resting on fine fabric, were two glass contact lenses, made to fit over the entire eye. The contact lens was a fairly new invention, devised just a few years ago. They were exceedingly uncomfortable, truth be told, but, in her case, they were a necessary evil.

Her lenses, unlike the common sort, had dark brown irises painted on them, giving her the illusion of possessing brown eyes. These, along with a second pair of spectacles whose lenses were made out of normal glass, were required precautions with the person she was to host next.

Putting these glass monstrosities on her eyes, she blinked several times to get them to feel as pleasant as possible. After this process, she placed her faux glasses on, pushing them up to set securely on the bridge of her nose.

Scrutinizing herself in the mirror, she decided that she was presentable enough, hid her prescription glasses, and walked back into the sitting room. She was just about to sit back down in her favorite armchair when there was a knock at the door.

Straightening back up, she crossed the foyer and swung open the barrier between her and the last visitor of the day. This one, however, would not be paying for a chat.

"Why, hello, Lynn," a young, dark-haired, bespectacled woman greeted, smirking. "You look surprisingly energetic for this time of night. Did you just finish a pot of tea?"

"Yes actually," the psychiatrist confirmed. "Would you care to come in, or do you prefer talking out here?"

"Well, as your older sister, I was expecting to be let in and fed," the woman responded, amusement in her brown eyes. Those eyes, of course, did not require the disguise of colored contact lenses.

Lynn smiled. "Like a stray cat?"

"They live the life," the visitor returned. "Can I come in now?"

"I suppose so, Aria," Lynn stated, stepping back to let her sister into the townhouse. "So, how have you been?"

Aria sighed and pulled her black coat off of her body, hanging it on the nearby coat rack. "Busy," she replied, removing her gloves and attempting to rub the chill from her hands. "You?"

"The same. I just finished with my last client. I'm afraid we ate all the biscuits."

"Of course you did," Aria muttered, following Lynn to the sitting room. With a dramatic stretch that caused her back to pop, the woman plopped down into the armchair opposite that of her sister's and released another sigh.

"Bad day at work?" Lynn inquired as she cleared away the tea set.

"Not particularly. It was just busy."

"Busy as in double digits?"

"Yes, I'm afraid," Aria lamented.

"I don't see how you can get so many done in one day, Aria," Lynn said, bringing in a fresh pot of tea she had prepared in advance. "It must be depressing."

"And your job isn't?" Aria quipped.

"Touche," Lynn returned, pouring them both a cup.

"But yes," Aria continued, "I suppose it isn't the most light-hearted job to have. One must learn to dehumanize the subject."

"What a cold way of going about things," Lynn mused, finally sitting down in her chair.

"It's hard to do an autopsy when not in that state of mind, dear sister," Aria explained, taking a sip of her tea, this time releasing a sigh of contentment as the beverage warmed her body.

"Ooh. Tell me more, Dr. Sinclair," Lynn joked, grinning.

"Another time, perhaps, Dr. Sinclair," Aria said, smiling.

They both laughed.

"All jest aside," Aria continued, "I have something I wish to speak with you about."

"The story of my life," Lynn stated.

Aria gave her a hard stare.

Lynn's humor sobered. "Do continue, Aria."

"Thank you." She cleared her throat and set her teacup down. "Now, as you know, I work at the Royal London Hospital as a pathologist."

Lynn nodded.

"During my employment there, I have come to know most of the staff and have been on fairly friendly terms with everybody. One such colleague was one Dr. Angelina Dalles, known in society circles as Madam Red."

Lynn shifted in her seat.

"Some time ago, this woman died in mysterious circumstances which were never fully disclosed. As you can imagine, I was very keen to find out what these mysterious circumstances were. Now, Angelina had a nephew, an Earl Ciel Phantomhive, the son of her sister. I have told you of him before, I believe."

"Yes," Lynn affirmed. "You mentioned that you were fairly close with the young earl. You also mentioned that he is known in the underworld as the Queen's Watchdog. Being a pathologist, you were associated with him in this capacity. Is that correct?"

"Perfectly," Aria stated. "I need not remind you, of course, that that secret does not leave this room?"

"Of course."

"Good. Now, as I was saying, I knew that Ciel was Angelina's nephew, and after some months had passed, I asked Ciel what it was exactly that had happened to Madam Red. Typically, the young earl is very candid with me. This time, however, he was reticent when it came to details. He vaguely mentioned that she had been involved in an accident that had proved fatal to her, and then changed the topic. Throughout my meeting with him, I attempted to ask further questions, but he deflected all of them. I didn't push him too roughly, however. He had just gotten back from the ill fated voyage of the Campania, after all, so I didn't wish to strain his nerves. Needless to say, I left his estate none the wiser for my efforts."

Lynn crossed her legs and folded her hands in her lap. "Is that so?"

"Yes. I, of course, did not carry out the autopsy. My associate, Undertaker, did. Therefore, I was unable to find out for myself what the cause of death was. Indeed, an accident sounded like a likely explanation for Madam Red's sudden death, but the way Ciel avoided answering my questions raised my suspicions. Therefore, after I left the Phantomhive estate, I headed directly for Undertaker's. I knew he had been out of town, but I was surprised to see that his shop was still closed."

Lynn said nothing.

"I let it go for a few days to see if Undertaker would return, but he has yet to do so. Lynn, I intend to investigate, not only Madam Red's death, but Undertaker's strange disappearance."

Now Lynn's face drained of color. "Don't you think that is a little uncalled for, Aria? I mean, I know your stint with the Pinkerton Agency made you a capable investigator, but these circumstances seem unrelated at best. I think you should leave it alone."

The pathologist frowned. "You can't possibly think that there isn't something going on, can you? Maybe you're right and they aren't related. Still, to have such strange goings on in such a small group of people is unusual."

"Unusual? They are all associated with Earl Phantomhive, the Queen's Watchdog. It makes sense that bad things happen to them. I don't think you should get involved."

"I am also associated with Earl Phantomhive," Aria pointed out. "If something unsavory is brewing, I need to know before I end up dead or worse."

A sigh escaped her sister's lips. "Nothing I can say is going to dissuade you, is it?"

Aria shook her head.

"Then be careful, at least."

"Psh! You know I'm always armed. A young, single woman living alone in London can't afford not to be. Especially when possessing my unimposing stature."

The psychiatrist gave a small smile. "Yes, I suppose you are correct. Still, I worry."

"It is a natural feeling, Doctor. I am by no means a brave person, but if something has to be done, then I will get it done. And I believe that this matter may hold something of significance."

Lynn shrugged. "Do what you will, though I would advise you to keep out of it."

"Noted," Aria returned, rising from her chair.

Lynn stood as well. "Are you leaving now?" she asked.

"Yes. I'm afraid I am rather tired, and it is getting late. I imagine you wish to sleep just as much as I do."

"You hit that one on the head," Lynn yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand at a reflexive attempt at decorum.

Aria nodded. "I thought as much. Goodnight then, Lynn. I shall see you later."

And with those brief parting words, Aria left, closing the door behind her.

As she heard the rattling sound of the hansom her sister had called fade into the distance, Dr. Lynn Sinclair went and locked her front door.

Sighing, she shook her head sorrowfully and retired to her bedroom to prepare for a well deserved respite.

While removing her glass contact lenses a few minutes later, the good psychiatrist reflected on the danger her older sister was unwittingly walking into. Yes, she may be involved with the blackest human depravity in the London underworld, but Aria's past experiences could not possibly hope to prepare her for the truths she was about to face.

Her brow clouded with worry, Lynn slipped into her nightgown and slid into bed, nestling under the covers. As her hand came down from extinguishing her lamp, it flew in between the bed and the nightstand to come into contact with the ornately carved object she kept hidden there. The tips of her fingers swept along the curling patterns of the handle before they lightly traced the sharp curve of the polished blade.

Yes, her beautiful hand sickle death scythe was still in its proper place. Just as it had been every night since her conversion.

Releasing the breath she hadn't known she had been holding, she turned onto her stomach and closed her eyes. So far as she foresaw, the upcoming days were going to be difficult. If she was lucky, her sister would not be able to discover anything about Madam Red and the Undertaker. That way, she would be able to keep her elder sibling in the dark about her true nature a little longer, and, with any luck, avoid a mountain of bureaucratic paperwork.

However, Aria being Aria, she was bound to find out about something that would require awkward explanations.

Internally groaning at the notion, Lynn tried to stop this train of thought and get some sleep. She had no doubt that she would need it.

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If you're reading this you must have read the first chapter (or skipped it and came down here, in which case, shame on you). We're off to a slow and rather vague start, but all in the spirit of build up! I hope you enjoyed it, and I look forward to uploading the next chapter soon!


	2. Chapter 2

Finally, the second chapter to my story! I'm so happy that people enjoy reading this as much as I love writing it! With that said, please enjoy.

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Dr. Aria Sinclair squinted slightly as she lightly squeezed the bulb of the pipette. The chemical test she was running was a particularly delicate one. A single mistake would require her to start over, and as much as she loved chemistry, she did not enjoy repeating herself.

Thankfully, she would not have to. The eye of the pipette released a single drop, no more, no less. With a smile of pleasure, she set the instrument aside and watched the liquid in the test tube carefully.

A few hours ago she had finished the autopsy of the latest victim in a series of murders. The investigation had been a tricky one so far. None of the victims had had any external wounds, leading the investigators to the conclusion that the victims had been poisoned. When she had performed the autopsies, however, she had not been able to find any poison in the bodies. There were no marks suggesting that the victims had been injected with a toxin, and their stomach content had been unhelpful.

This time, though, the killer had made what she hoped was a fatal error.

As she stood there avidly watching the content of the test tube, the solution started changing color. The transition was subtle, but unmistakable.

With a bark of triumph, she reached for her notepad and sketched down her findings. Just as she put pencil to paper, the doors to the morgue swung open and two gentlemen walked in.

Well, she said gentlemen. Rather it was a gentleboy and his austere butler.

"Come in, come in," she called out distractedly, not bothering to look up from her notes.

The pair of males did so and waited patiently for her to finish her writing. Though typically a very brusque individual, Earl Ciel Phantomhive held Dr. Aria Sinclair in high regard, which allowed him to give her a rare form of courteous respect. He found her to be one of the only competent people in her profession. Because of this, when he wanted forensic information on a case, he went to Aria.

Eventually, the woman finished her scribbling and laid down her notebook, finally looking up at her distinguished visitors. They looked as they typically did. Ciel wore a calm expression of practiced boredom, occasionally glancing about himself at the stark atmosphere of the room, while Sebastian stood unmoving and indifferent.

Aria smirked. "I assume you've come to hear my findings regarding one Mr. Richard Lascar, deceased in the early hours of this morning?"

"You assume correctly, Dr. Sinclair," Ciel stated, folding his hands over the head of his walking stick. "Can you tell us anything of import? By your expression, I imagine you can."

"Indeed, Earl Phantomhive. As you know, there were no traceable signs of poison in the bodies of the previous victims. This time, however, our murderer tripped up."

The boy's blue eye widened. "You have found something?"

The doctor's smirk grew at the excitement in the child's voice. This was all too fun.

"You could say that, Ciel," she continued, turning to her work bench. The nobleman followed her. "Once again, there were no indications that poison had been injected and nothing suggesting that it had been ingested. Be that as it may, I was able to find one organ in which there was an above average level of toxicity. Would you like to guess which one it was, Lord Phantomhive?"

"I'm not in the mood for games, Doctor," Ciel bit out.

Aria smiled. "Is that so? And here I thought you were fond of games."

The ends of Sebastian's lips curled slightly upward at this. Thankfully, his amusement escaped his master's notice.

"If we could get back to the matter at hand, Aria," the child earl muttered, frowning.

"But of course, my Lord. I found this abnormality in the lungs, and decided to investigate further. By way of chemical experimentation, I was able to confirm my suspicion beyond a doubt. The poison that the victims had been administered was inhaled."

The boy pinched his chin in contemplation. "If that is the case, then that means the murderer has to be..."

"Yes, obviously," Aria agreed. "If I were you, I'd go arrest her now, before she sends me any more presents."

Ciel rolled his eyes at the pathologist's morbid sense of humor.

"I shall be on my way, then. Good work, Doctor."

"Any time, Earl Phantomhive. Good day to you. And to you as well, Sebastian."

"Thank you, Doctor," the butler responded, bowing at the waist. "It was lovely seeing you again."

As the doors swung closed behind the departing pair, Aria looked at the clock and checked her chart. She had a couple more procedures to do before she could leave to continue her 'extra curricular' investigation.

With a matter-of-fact expression, she washed her hands and donned a pair of gloves (a precaution she took when dealing with her 'patients'; most other doctors had yet to adopt it) before setting about her next autopsy. While she marked the places on the body that she was to cut, she admitted to feeling a flutter of excitement at the prospect of her new investigation. It would be nice to try her hand at some detective work again.

Work before play, however.

Clearing her mind of all thoughts but the job at hand, she went about her business.

)*(

To say that the day was chilly would have been an understatement. The wind whipped about savagely, making conversation out of doors difficult at best. All of the world seemed a bleak gray, as though London was a somber painting in a dusty room of a long lost art collection. Every window in every house was shuttered against the draft of the outside world, causing the brave souls trudging the streets to feel like actual wandering spirits, trapped endlessly in a colorless kaleidoscope.

As one of these wandering spirits, Dr. Aria Sinclair blended in well with her fellows. Ensconced in her customary black coat, she weaved in and out of the city's denizens as inconspicuously as a genuine ghost, all the while making her merry way to the Undertaker's parlor.

As far as she knew, the man had not returned to London following her last visit to his shop, and if he was not there when she arrived, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Shoving said hands into the pockets of her coat, she continued to brave the elements until she arrived at the mortician's doorstep. Upon arrival, she was unsurprised that he was still absent. Surreptitiously, she tried the handle of the door. Finding it locked, she made sure that the constable was not currently walking down the street on his beat and turned toward the door.

Taking out a small case, she removed a few slender instruments and began her clandestine work on the lock. Within a few minutes, the lock gave way and the door swung open. Stepping over the threshold, the doctor closed and locked the door behind her, just in case the policeman on patrol felt the need to check for break-ins. Returning the case of lock-picking instruments to her inner coat pocket, she proceeded to scope the place out.

The shop didn't look any different from the other times she had visited, although maybe slightly messier, if that was possible. All of the coffins were still out on display, and the jars of chemicals in the same positions on the shelves. The place was in need of dusting, but everything looked relatively untouched.

Aria then advanced to the door at the back of the room which led down to the lower levels of the establishment. The basement room was typically where Undertaker performed his procedures on the corpses he was brought. She remembered instances when she had helped him in this macabre practice, but the atmosphere almost always remained light due to Undertaker's manic sense of humor. Now the mortician had vanished, and the shop held nothing of its former joviality. Instead the very walls seemed to emanate a sense of hushed apprehension.

A little put out by this ominous feeling, Aria reached for the handle of the door that would open onto the stairs which led to the basement, only to hear the locked door behind her rattle.

Her head whipped around as her heart rate sped up.

Who could possibly be trying to get into the Undertaker's shop?

When the handle was tried again, she steeled herself and slipped into one of the wooden coffins that was leaning vertically against the wall, leaving herself a wide enough space between the opening of the box and its lid to allow her to watch the goings on in the room. If someone had the same idea as she, then it was best to wait and see who this third party was.

She was not disappointed. A few seconds later, the door was kicked open and a young man walked in, a bulky object flung over his shoulder. His method hadn't exactly been the most quiet way to get the job done, but if one was not worried about being seen, then it was certainly effective.

To be quite honest, she was a little shocked by this intruder's appearance. The man was slim and fit, cutting a rather nice figure in the light of the doorway, and his hair was definitely strange: a blonde and black get up. He wore a very casual suit, and a white pair of sneakers that clashed terribly with the rest of his outfit. The spectacles which sat on the bridge of his nose were large in size, but they did a wonderful job of framing the splendor of his eyes, which were of an impossibly vibrant green.

The thing that caught the majority of Aria's attention, however, was the bizarre object he had thrown over his shoulder.

It seemed to be some contraption made of metal with wheels and an extended handle like those found on prams. The body of the machine was so low that it would virtually be on the ground if one were to push it around. She had no idea what purpose this odd gizmo could serve until she saw the light of the sun catch and reflect on something. Taking a second look, she saw this something, and the very sight of it made her heart stop. On the bottom of the machine, was a set of spiraling blades. By the way they were installed, it looked as though their purpose was to spin, thereby hacking anything they came in contact with to bits.

Aria swallowed past the lump in her throat and remained silent. She did not feel like dying today.

As she stayed hidden in her coffin, the man she was watching let out an airy whine and hunched forward.

"Oy, this is just great. Why did I have to be the one to carry out the boring legwork?"

His accent seemed to be that of the working class. It certainly wasn't a finely educated one. Still, it wasn't bad enough to be put in the lower classes. Who was this man?

While she watched from her vantage point, the man started to search around the shop. It was not the unobtrusive look around Aria had been having. On the contrary, this man seemed to be intent on getting into everything he possibly could. He opened all of the jars on the shelves, once having a sniff in one and throwing the thing back in its place as though it had thrust itself upon him. Then he proceeded to hastily flip through all the books in the room before turning his sights on the desk.

The doctor watched intensely as the man opened all of the drawers and rifled through them. Sadly, her view was obstructed by the desk itself, which irritated her terribly.

As she was beginning to form a plan that would allow her to escape before the man inspected the coffins, there was a wretched moaning sound and the light flooding in through the crack she had been peering through was extinguished. Now, had this light been artificial, she may not have worried so much, but the light had been from the sun, and unless the mysterious intruder had suddenly decided to fix the door he had so rudely destroyed, something was amiss.

Turning her attention back to the slim opening, her eyes widened in disbelief.

Standing there, looking in at her through the peephole in the coffin, was someone. Or, more appropriately, _something_.

It was a terrifying sight, for the thing certainly looked like a man, but the eyes were blindfolded and the skin was decomposing. Going by the state of the thing and the stench that now permeated the air, she would have to assume that this was a corpse, gone by many months. All of this, however, did not explain how or why it was moving.

She stood in a state of frozen horror, hoping that by not making a move, it would simply leave. It was soon apparent that her plan was not working, as the monster began to tear away at the coffin lid, reaching in after her.

More terrified than she had ever been in her entire life, she flung its hands off of her and screamed out a heartrending sob, pulling a gun out of her coat. She fired twice at its heart and waited for the creature to fall dead to the floor, but this was not to be. Despite the wounds to its chest that by all rights should have been fatal, it continued to claw its way after her. Her eyes widened in disbelief and a silent scream caught in her throat. She was just on the brink of shoving past it and running for her life when a whirring noise came from behind the beast.

Before she could comprehend what was going on, the animated corpse was dashed aside and a spray of blood and gore littered her vision. A second later, the lid to her coffin was shoved aside and the man from earlier was standing in front of her, the monster lying dead behind him.

She flinched as the sunlight temporarily blinded her, but kept her grip tight on her gun, for what good that would do. When her vision finally adjusted, she locked gazes with the chartreuse eyes of her savior. The look they sent her was one of astonishment and pity. As far as she could tell, he posed her no threat, but that did little to comfort her with the evidence of his strength lying prone on the ground behind him.

He must have seen the suspicion in her eyes, for he suddenly gave her a soft smile.

"Why, you poor thing. Come on. There's no need to hide in there. The creature isn't able to hurt you anymore."

He held out a reassuring hand, waiting for her to latch onto it.

In normal circumstances, the way he spoke to her, as though she were a skittish child, would have been offensive, and the hand immediately rejected. In this instance, however, she had to admit that she had been frightened out of her wits, and had probably acted like said child. Besides, this man had just saved her life. It would be beyond rude to refuse his offer now.

She grabbed onto his hand, and his smile widened.

"That a' girl," he encouraged as he helped her out of the coffin.

Shakily, she replaced the gun into her coat pocket and stared up at the man.

"Thank you for saving my life," she stated gratefully. "I tried to shoot that thing, but it wouldn't die." Here she looked down at the body. "What is it?"

"An animated corpse, if you'll believe. They've been all over since the Campania," he answered, following her gaze to the rotting carcase on the floor.

At this explanation, Aria looked back up at him. "The Campania? You mean the passenger liner that sank?"

If that was the case, then Undertaker's disappearance could be linked directly to Ciel Phantomhive, just like Madam Red's strange death.

"Yeah. There were loads of these things on the ship. The guy responsible owns this shop, so I came to investigate."

A cold sweat broke out on her brow as her eyes widened in disbelief. "The man that owns this shop created these monstrocities?" She attempted to keep the tension from her voice, but was afraid she failed.

"Yeah. Uglier than the Queen in a bathing suit, right? Don't know why he'd want to, but here one is. I came in to scope the place out. Speaking of which, why are you here?"

As if just now remembering that the woman before him was not supposed to be inside of a coffin at an abandoned funeral parlor, he turned his sights on her, suspicion in his eyes.

Aria smiled. "I had occasion to work with the Undertaker in the past. Not on those creatures, mind you, but on legitimate procedures. I knew he was supposed to be out of town, but not for this long, so I came to see if I could gather any evidence as to his whereabouts."

The man furrowed his brow. "But the door was locked. I had to break it down to get in."

"Yes. When I gained entry, I locked it behind me. It's nothing unusual."

He scratched at his chin. "Do you have a key?"

"No, sadly. I had to pick the lock. There was never a reason to have a key before this, as the Undertaker was never really closed. He held odd hours."

The man nodded slowly, as if trying to decide whether to believe this woman or not. After a couple of seconds, though, he must have decided that her intrusion didn't really matter, and held out his hand for a shake.

"The name's Ronald Knox," he introduced, smiling cheerily.

"Dr. Aria Sinclair," the pathologist returned, taking his hand in greeting.

At her name, however, he seemed to freeze up a bit.

"Sinclair? Your name is Sinclair?"

Aria cocked an eyebrow. "Yes. Is there a reason why it shouldn't be?"

"No, it's just... I know another Dr. Sinclair. She's a psychiatrist."

The woman was surprised to hear this bit of information, but didn't let it show. Her sister did work with the public, after all.

"That would be my younger sister, Dr. Lynn Sinclair. Are you acquainted with her?"

"Yeah," the man replied noncommittally. "Actually, I think we should go see her."

"Whatever for?" Aria asked, genuinely confused. Why should this Knox fellow what to go visit her sister at a time like this? Was he one of her patients?

"I think you're going to have a lot of questions, and that it would be best for your sister to answer them," he replied, slinging his strange weapon over his shoulder again.

Looking up at it, Aria asked, "I don't mean to be impertinent, but what on earth is that thing?"

Sending a quick glance toward the contraption on his shoulder, Ronald sighed and muttered, "Yup. Questions." Turning back to her he stated, "Come with me. It would be better for us to discuss this somewhere less public."

"Yes," Aria agreed. "And preferably with less dead people."

"Then it's decided. We'll head to your sister's." Ronald took her hand without permission this time, and led her out into the streets.

Fine, she though to herself. If going to my sister's makes this man comfortable enough to answer my questions, then to my sister's we shall go.

* * *

Well, we've met the loveable Ronald Knox who seems just as confused as everyone else is. I honestly don't know why Undertaker left one of his experiments in his funeral parlor, but it worked for the plot, so we'll say he was being absent-minded. I pity the poor constable who finds the mess they left behind of that corpse, though.

I'd love to hear your thoughts! Finals week is just around the corner, and I'm going to need all the good vibes I can get. As always, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this!


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Lynn Sinclair's last patient, Mr. Eric Slingby, had just gone home and she had just changed into her contact lenses when there was a knock at her door. She was slightly irritated by this interruption, as she wasn't expecting another patient for at least another hour, but went to open the door anyway. Her intention of telling the visitor that they would have to come back later or schedule an appointment died on her lips as she saw who was standing on her doorstep.

Ronald Knox and her very own sister.

"Why in God's name are you two here, and why are you together?" she asked, confused.

"That's a very good question," Aria stated, looking distinctly unamused by the situation.

Lynn then turned to Ronald, her professional demeanor dropping. "Well? What the hell's going on, Ronald?"

The blonde smiled in a way all children do when they want to avoid trouble. "I have something important to tell you that regards your sister."

Lynn seemed to catch his drift and stepped aside. "Come in then. I don't have another patient for about an hour, so I can spare you some time."

The couple made their way into the house and followed Lynn into the sitting room.

Irritated at being there, Aria took the chair across from her sister, leaving Ronald to stand, leaning against his unearthly machine. Lynn dropped down into her chair and then got right down to business.

"So, what is it you have to tell me?"

Ronald stepped up, as though ready to recite a rehearsed tale. "I went to investigate that business with the Undertaker at the bloke's shop, and then had to save your sister, who had been hiding in one of the coffins, from one of those animated corpses the man had left behind. According to what she told me, she was looking into the man's disappearance because she used to work with him. I thought that you might want to talk with her, seeing as this pertains to your job."

Aria perked up at that statement. "How would Undertaker's disappearance pertain to your job, Lynn? You're a psychiatrist, not a detective. Speaking of which, what is this guy?" Here she jerked her thumb at Ronald who was standing slightly behind her to the left.

Lynn let out a sigh that told of how tired she was before answering. "Aria, you are not going to believe a word I say, but I'm going to tell you anyway."

This definitely got the pathologist's attention. "Go on," Aria encouraged, leaning back in her seat.

Lynn continued. "The reason Ronald was investigating the Undertaker and the reason that man's disappearance pertains to my job is because Mr. Knox and I both work for the same agency. This agency is interested in getting their hands on the Undertaker because he is a fugitive. That blasted mortician created corpses that were able to walk on their own all the while killing a multitude of humans. This is inexcusable behavior and is therefore supposed to be stopped. Do you see now why I didn't want you meddling with Undertaker's disappearance?"

Completely ignoring the question that had been put to her, Aria said, "But it wasn't only Undertaker's disappearance that you tried to dissuade me from investigating. You also attempted to keep me from looking into Madam Red's mysterious death. Obviously this nameless agency knows something about both incidents. Tell me, Lynn, what is this agency that you and Mr. Knox work for?"

Ronald shifted from one foot to the other, while Lynn's muscles tensed. Aria waited patiently for her sister to respond.

"Are you sure you want to know, Aria?"

The seriousness of her sister's question shocked the pathologist. "Yes, of course I do. Why else would I ask? It would be best for me to know the entire situation, if for no other reason than to keep myself from getting killed."

Lynn closed her eyes. She knew her sister was right. It had been very ambitious of her to attempt to keep her secret from Aria, but she had known it would never work in the long run. At any rate, the only thing keeping her conversion a secret had accomplished so far was a pair of damnably uncomfortable contact lenses and the near death of the woman sitting across from her.

Having made a decision, she opened her eyes. "Alright, Aria, I'll tell you everything, but I'm afraid you really won't believe a word of it."

"We'll deal with that after you tell me this 'unbelievable' story," Aria retorted, ready to listen.

"Aria, Ronald and I are grim reapers."

Aria said nothing. If she told her sister she was crazy now, she would never finish the story. Therefore, Aria simply nodded as a signal to continue.

Lynn's eyes widened fractionally. She had been expecting more of a reaction than that. Now she didn't know whether to be relieved or worried by Aria's seemingly calm acceptance. The psychiatrist was on the brink of asking Aria what she thought of this revelation, but decided against it. Stopping the story now to argue with her sister who seemed perfectly willing to listen to her would be folly. This being the case, she began to tell the rest.

"I wasn't always a grim reaper, obviously. I only became one a short time after Madam Red's death. You see, grim reapers do not kill people. They simply harvest the souls of the humans who are scheduled to die and send them where they are meant to go. The names of the humans scheduled for death are on the To-Die List, of which every reaper has a copy. If a human's name is not on this list, then they are not scheduled for death. Do you understand?"

Aria nodded.

"Good. Well, as I said, it was only a short time after the death of Madam Red. I was coming home from a late appointment at the home of an invalid client of mine. It was after dark, and I was traveling alone. I suppose I was asking to get accosted. The man that pulled me into the alley attempted to rob me, but I didn't have anything of value on my person. Unfortunately, I had already seen the cad's face since he wasn't wearing anything to hide it. Not wanting to be identified and sent to prison, the man decided to kill me then and there. Jack the Ripper had never been caught when committing his murders, so why should my assailant?

"Skipping the bloody details, he almost succeeded in his plan until he was suddenly thrown off of me. I was almost dead, to be sure, but I was cognizant enough to see that my savior was a tall man dressed in red. I then blacked out. Upon waking up, I was greeted by blinding white light. I thought I was in Heaven, but since my body hurt all over, I decided that either Heaven was not all that it was cracked up to be or that I had been brought to a hospital. It was, thank heavens (no pun intended) the latter.

"You see, my savior had been a grim reaper - one Grell Sutcliff - and since my name had not been on the To-Die List, he had taken it upon himself to save me. At the time I'm sure it was just a ploy to get back into reaper headquarters; he was on suspension, but over time we got... closer."

Aria noted this hesitation, but kept silent.

"Not being allowed to wander around headquarters, Grell stayed by my bedside as I healed. I couldn't be taken to a regular hospital, you see, since human medical techniques are not yet advanced enough to deal with the injuries I sustained. With Grell to talk to, however, the days went by fairly quickly. Before I knew it, I was well enough to go back to the mortal realm, but by that time Grell had become quite attached to me. He asked his supervisor, Mr. William T. Spears, if he could, and I quote, 'keep her'. What he was actually asking is whether I could stay on as a grim reaper myself. Mr. Spears was against the idea at first, but seeing that I already knew about grim reapers and that I kept Grell in line, he eventually relented.

"The grim reaper's English branch is notoriously understaffed, so Mr. Spears held some meetings with his associates who agreed that I would be worth the trouble if I could help to control Grell. They sent the appropriate forms to the Higher-ups (which is grim reaper for God), and eventually got permission. I was then fully converted to a grim reaper.

"Not much really changes. You see, typically, to become a grim reaper, one must commit suicide. Living out the rest of eternity collecting souls and being surrounded by death is the punishment for taking one's own life. With me, however, I did not have to die before becoming a reaper. God simply changed me into the immortal being. The only physical characteristic that changed was my eye color."

Before Aria could point out that her eyes were still brown, Lynn removed her colored contacts, showing off her luminous emerald eyes. Aria gaped in disbelief. At first, Lynn's story seemed completely outrageous, but now she was showing proof of her transformation. No medical procedure to date could change a person's eye color, and definitely not to that inhuman shade. She stayed quiet as she listened to the rest of Lynn's story, a little less skeptical now.

"You see, Aria, every grim reaper has the same kind of double irised green eyes. We don't really know why. Maybe it helps us with seeing a person's cinematic record? We simply don't know. Oh, that's right! I haven't told you what a cinematic record is. Well, when a person dies, their life flashes before their eyes. What they are seeing at this time is the entire record of their life: their cinematic record. When a reaper harvests a human's soul, they watch these cinematic records and send the human's soul where it is supposed to go. Really, it's like one of those newfangled motion pictures.

"Anyway, all reapers, except for deserters, have reaper spectacles. Grim reapers are all severely near-sighted, so these spectacles help us see our surroundings and a human's cinematic record. Needless to say, these spectacles are very important to reapers.

"So, overnight, I became one of these green-eyed, blind gods of death who was forced to constantly wear spectacles. Though I was a reaper now, my mortal family did not know this. Since I didn't commit suicide like the typical reaper, my family still believed I was alive. Because of this, I came back to the mortal realm and continued with my psychiatric practice, only now I catered to both mortals and reapers.

"I tried to keep my secret for as long as possible because I was pretty sure you and the rest of the family would think I was crazy if I told you. When you started talking to me about looking into the death of Madam Red and Undertaker's disappearance, however, I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep it for long, at least not from you."

Lynn stopped and shook her head. "You are looking into very dangerous things, Aria, as you now know. Undertaker is being hunted by the Grim Reaper Association because he is a deserter who managed to find a way to cheat death. A deserter is a reaper who left the association without actually retiring. By running away, they don't live out their sentence of continuous work for taking their own lives. Undertaker is one of these deserters, and now he has brought attention upon himself by interfering with the lives of humans. That is why he has disappeared.

"As for Madam Red, she was killed by a reaper who happened to be her partner in crime in the most notorious series of murders London has ever seen."

Aria froze. "You don't mean to tell me that Madam Red, with the help of a reaper, was Jack the Ripper, do you?"

Lynn nodded. "I am afraid so. This reaper was my savior, Grell Sutcliff. His many crimes during this incident was what got him put on suspension. Grim reapers live long lives, and Grell had never been completely stable. It was only a matter of time before he cracked. However, punishing a grim reaper is different than punishing a human. You can't sentence them to life in prison, as they will simply live forever, and killing Grell would have made the Association dangerously understaffed. If they become too understaffed, they will fail to collect all of the souls of the humans on the To-Die List, leaving them to be devoured by demons."

"Demons? They are a part of this too?" Aria asked, looking a little overwhelmed.

Lynn shrugged. "Sadly, yes. You know one, I believe. Sebastian Michaelis, butler to the Phantomhive household."

The blood drained from Aria's face. Was her sister seriously telling her that one of her closest friends was a demon? Then again, his eyes were red...

"Honestly..." Aria muttered.

Ronald, who had been absently looking around the office, suddenly snapped to attention at the word. When he realized that Aria had been the one to say it, he calmed down a bit.

"I swear," he exclaimed, "you scared the life out of me! I thought you were Mr. Spears for a second."

Lynn laughed. "You'd be surprised how much they have in common."

Aria rolled her eyes. "If we could stay on point, children," she sighed, resting her chin on her knuckles. "Unlike reaper lore, demons I know a little bit more about. Am I supposed to believe that Sebastian is a demon butler serving Ciel due to some sort of contract?"

"Right you are," Ronald confirmed, resting his arm on the top of Aria's chair. "And when the kid's wish is granted, Sebastian darling gets to swallow his soul. Just another imbalance in the ledgers that will have to be fixed."

"Sebastian darling?" Aria asked. "Is there something you want to share with the class, Ronald?"

"Nah, it's not me. Sutcliff calls him that."

"Ah. So Sutcliff likes attractive demon butlers?"

"And our supervisor, Mr. Spears. He also thinks Undertaker's a looker," Ronald explained.

Aria chuckled. "My, you all have your hands full with him."

Lynn slumped in her seat. "You have no idea."

Returning to the matter at hand, Aria became serious once more and stated, "Seeing as all this is clearly out of my purview and very unlikely to affect my well being, I shall put your mind at rest and leave the matter to you. As I saw today, I am hardly prepared to deal with the work of grim reapers. Although, if the corpses in my morgue begin to wake up during an autopsy, I'll make sure to whack them in the head."

Ronald laughed. "You do that, though the people you work with may think you crazy."

"They already find me eccentric," Aria mused, rising from her seat. "Well, I cannot claim to be at ease with all I've learned tonight, but I'm happy that you've finally confided in me. Now you can stop wearing those glass contacts. I've heard they're ghastly uncomfortable."

"You heard right," Lynn said, getting up to see Aria out. "Thank you for understanding. Now I don't have to worry so much about you getting into trouble."

"Strange," Aria thought aloud. "When we were children it was I who had to worry about you."

Lynn laughed. "True. Have a nice night, Aria."

"You too, Lynn."

As the door was closed behind her, Aria sighed, watching the tendrils of her breath spiral away in the late evening air. With a head of things to think about and a whole night to do so, she called a cab and rode back to her own residence. This was to be a long night of contemplation.

* * *

Hey everybody! This chapter was mostly a necessary backstory for how Lynn became a grim reaper. The next chapter is where the exciting stuff begins. Stay tuned!


	4. Chapter 4

Hello again, everybody! I apologize for the gap in between updates, and hope that this chapter makes up for it in part. Enjoy the story!

* * *

Dr. Aria Sinclair had a spring in her step as she hopped the last stairs up to the doors of the Royal London Hospital. The weather, which had been abnormally cold for this time in April, was just beginning to thaw, and the sun was seeing to it that some of its rays peeked out from behind the gray , life was returning to the city, and the people that would normally shut themselves up in the safety of their rooms were now venturing out into the streets to enjoy the pleasant day.

It had been a couple of days since Aria's meeting with her sister, and since then, they had both experienced the joys of a closer bond where trust and openness abounded. Her visits to Lynn's house were just as frequent as they were before, but now their topics of conversation were expanded to anything having to do with the supernatural, as long as it didn't require Lynn to break reaper laws. Her sister had even stopped wearing those atrocious contacts.

Why, just the other day their conversation had run from the Grim Reaper Association to the questionable practices of mental institutions such as the Bethlem Royal Hospital, otherwise known as Bedlam, and Stonehart Asylum.

Humming the tune of a song whose name she couldn't quite place, she made her way through the long corridors of the hospital to the morgue. She had to admit, her job was quite an interesting one. Not only did she get to solve medical conundrums, but sometimes murder mysteries as well. It was definitely never boring.

Slipping into her lab coat, she was about to grab her chart when her assistant, Dr. David Luther, rushed into the room from one of the adjacent doors. By the baffled expression he wore, she could tell he was disturbed.

"Dr. Sinclair," he started, catching sight of her, "thank God you're here!" He ran up to her and began ringing his hands, looking completely at a loss for what to do.

"Whatever is the matter, Dr. Luther?" Aria asked calmly, waiting for an explanation. She had never before seen her assistant so out of sorts.

"We just received a body."

Aria was drawing a blank. "We often receive bodies, Doctor. This is a morgue, after all."

He shook his head, as though frustrated that she wasn't understanding him.

"No, Doctor," he began again. "I mean we were _left_ a body. I have no idea where it came from; it was just here when I arrived. I managed to take a quick look at it, but it seems as though it has already been operated on."

"I beg your pardon?" Aria asked, setting her chart back down. "Do you mean that it looks as though somebody has already performed an autopsy on the corpse?"

Dr. Luther nodded vigorously. "I thought it best to leave it to you."

"A wise decision, Doctor. I shall have a look at it. Please work on the names on that chart for me, if you would."

"Of course," Dr. Luther responded, picking the chart up from where it had been abandoned on the table. Meanwhile, Aria made her way to the back laboratory room from which Dr. Luther had run.

The man had not been lying; there was indeed a corpse on the table. She did not recognize this person, and all of the people on her chart had been accounted for. How strange. Stepping closer, she was able to see that the body had undoubtedly been operated on in the not too distant past. The sutures were fresh and tied off cleanly, almost professionally. This was becoming a little more than odd. If a professionally trained physician had already performed an autopsy on this body, then why leave it in her morgue? The entire thing pointed to something sinister.

Deciding to go ahead with the autopsy, she began gathering her tools whilst trying to get a better idea of whom she was about to operate on.

The corpse was that of a man, most probably in his late thirties or early forties. His skin was exceedingly pale, as though he hadn't seen the light of day for quite some time. His hair was a common shade of brown, as shown by this eyebrows, but his head had been shaved during his previous autopsy, leaving him completely bald. His eyes were a light blue, almost gray. He was very slight, possibly a sign of malnutrition, but his hands bore no callouses as those of most starving laborers did. Continuing with her external examination of the body, she saw on his arms, legs and throat several bruises and chaff marks, as though he had been bound against his will and had fought against his restraints in a futile effort to free himself. Any other marks that would have given her clues as to his occupation and such had been washed away during the man's previous autopsy.

Without further ado, Dr. Aria Sinclair lifted her scalpel and began cutting along the sutures, separating them neatly in order to see what lay beneath. It took her some time to complete this, but eventually, her efforts paid off, and she was able to peel back the skin. Just as she had surmised, an autopsy had indeed taken place on this corpse: the ribcage showed definite signs of such an intrusion. Strangely enough, everything else in the man's body seemed to be relatively untouched. None of the organs below the ribs showed any signs of having been handled in any way. Even the stomach had been left alone, it's contents ignored.

This was most unusual. Why would someone go through the trouble of carrying out an autopsy without performing a thorough one?

Deciding to follow the surgical path the previous operator had taken, she got the ribs out of the way and carefully worked toward the heart. What she saw made her eyebrows shoot up in astonishment, for right where the heart should have been was a heavy black stone.

"What on earth?" she muttered, lifting the misplaced rock out of its resting place. "Why would someone replace this man's heart with a stone?"

The silence provided no answer, of course, so she had no choice but to proceed with the autopsy.

Nothing else inside of the victim's chest seemed to have been tampered with, so she turned her attentions to the shaved head. There was no denying that the head had been surgically opened, and she could only hope that the previous operator had at least spared his victim's brain.

Yes, she was thinking of this man as a victim of some heinous crime. He showed clear signs of being held against his will, and the butcher who had done this to him had not proceeded with the intention of performing a necessary medical procedure, but instead with some other dark purpose in mind.

Sudden anger burning in her bosom, she sliced open the sutures on the cranium and opened the skull along the previous surgical fractures. What she saw inside - or rather, what she didn't - made her blood run cold.

The man's brain was gone.

"Well," she stated to herself, "this is something you don't see every day."

Indeed, this was the first time she had come across something so grotesque. Had somebody opened this person up solely to replace their heart with a black rock and make off with their brain?

"No," she mumbled to herself, "that would be utterly pointless. There has to be some reason this was done to this man. He was left here to be found, after all."

And that's when it hit her like a ton of bricks.

"No..."

Who did she know that was able to perform an autopsy other than herself and her assistant?

"It can't be..."

Who knew full well where _she specifically_ worked and had collaborated with her in the past?

"It's impossible..."

And who was currently on the run from the grim reapers due to unorthodox experiments on corpses?

"Damn..."

Undertaker. What was he trying to tell her? This was obviously a message of some kind. He couldn't simply come and talk to her, seeing as he was in hiding. Anyway, this was exactly the kind of sick thing he would do.

Feeling a wave of disgust wash over her, she closed her eyes for a second, refocused, and gazed down at the human telegram before her. Undertaker had obviously meant for her to decipher the meaning of this macabre message, but he wasn't giving her much to go on.

She felt the previous autopsy wasn't important in and of itself. It was just a means to get the message to her. Leaving a note inside of the corpse would have been too risky; anybody could have read it. Leaving such bizarre, cryptic clues, however, would have guaranteed that she be alerted. Taking all of this into account, what was she left with?

A stone heart and a missing brain.

A stone heart. A heart of stone? To be cold-hearted? She wasn't getting anywhere with this.

A missing brain. Empty headed. To be stupid? That seemed a bit vague, and how did one tie that into the stone heart? Maybe to have lost one's brain? To have lost one's mind? To be crazy? That definitely sounded more like Undertaker.

So, insanity and a stone heart.

A stone heart.

Stoneheart. Insanity.

Stonehart Asylum.

Her eyes widened as all of the pieces fell into place.

Undertaker was telling her of a location: Stonehart Asylum. Hadn't she and Lynn had a discussion regarding this and other asylums not too long ago?

Did this mean that Undertaker was at Stonehart Asylum? She would have to inform her sister about this.

With a shout to Dr. Luther that she had to head out on an errand, she was off to the telegraph office to inform her sister of her impending arrival. It wouldn't do to walk in on a session, now would it?

)*(

Dr. Lynn Sinclair was just handing a manila file folder over to a dark haired visitor when there was a rap on her door.

"One moment, Mr. Spears," she said to the visitor before heading to see who was so insistent on having her attention.

Upon opening her door, she saw it was a delivery boy with arm outstretched, telegram clutched in his eager grasp. Smiling, she tipped the boy and took the telegram, moving back into her sitting room. Without a word to the man standing next to the fireplace, she ripped open the envelope and quickly scanned over the message therein.

Her brow furrowed at its contents, causing Mr. Spears to inquire as to what was wrong.

"It's my sister," she explained. "She says she's coming over because she believes she has news about the Undertaker that requires looking in to."

Mr. Spears made an expression of vague interest. "The Undertaker? I thought you informed her not to meddle in reaper business."

"I did. I'm just as confused as you are, believe me."

Mr. Spears stayed silent for a moment, seemingly considering different alternatives, before looking back up at his subordinate and stating, "I shall remain here and see what she has to say."

Lynn froze. She wasn't exactly all for the idea of her boss, William T. Spears, staying in her home in order to meet her sister. Don't get her wrong, she didn't necessarily dislike Spears, she just knew how hard he could be. William was typically a stickler for the rules, so how would he react to his human sister sticking her nose in reaper business? Not well.

Then there was Aria to consider. Although she was also reserved, hard-working and strict in her ways, she didn't see the problem with bending the rules when the situation called for it. Lynn knew as well that Aria would not bow her head to Mr. William T. Spears, and she didn't need an argument breaking out in her consulting room.

She was just about to point this out to her superior when a short knock sounded out and her door opened.

It was too late to turn back now.

"I'm sorry to give you such short notice," she heard Aria's voice saying from the hall, "but this simply couldn't wait."

William's eyebrow raised slightly as he glanced over at his employee. Obviously he was becoming more interested in what Aria had to say.

"Aria," Lynn called out just before her sister reached the sitting room, "we have company."

The pathologist suddenly became quiet, and her demeanor as she entered the sitting room was calm and subdued.

"Oh," she stated upon seeing William. "I had no idea. I sent a telegram ahead of me. Did it arrive late?"

"Rather," Lynn said, lifting it for her sister's inspection. "You arrived minutes after I opened it."

"Telegram boys never run as quickly as they advertise," Aria muttered, smirking. "If I am interrupting something I can wait in the foyer."

"Actually," Lynn began, "this gentleman would like to hear what you have to say."

Here Aria glanced up at the dark, imposing man before her, giving him a discrete once over. He seemed professional enough and apparently wore a perpetual frown. Still, she had no earthly clue as to who he was, and was surprised that Lynn would allow one of her patients to listen to anything she had to say about Undertaker.

That's when it hit her. The eyes. Those vibrant green eyes. He was a reaper as well. Decidedly more interested now, Aria looked the man over again. She noticed he was holding a manila folder and seemed to have an air of authority. She concluded, therefore, that this individual was Lynn's superior, and the only superior Lynn had ever told her about was...

"Mr. William T. Spears, I presume," Aria directed toward the Grim Reaper manager, holding out her hand for a shake.

William seemed taken aback for a moment, but quickly caught himself and took her hand in his. "You presume correctly, Doctor, though I fail to see how."

Aria subdued the smirk playing at her lips and began to explain. "I'm afraid it was a rather simple deduction you will find unimpressive once I have given an explanation."

William cocked an eyebrow. "Then do please explain your reasoning, Dr. Sinclair."

"If you insist, Mr. Spears," Aria agreed.

Lynn, meanwhile, was off to the side rolling her eyes.

"It was your irises and the air of authority that gave it away. You are obviously a grim reaper and not a patient of my sister, which makes your visit work related. The only superior my sister has mentioned to me was a Mr. William T. Spears. Therefore I found it safe to conclude that that was your identity. I'm terribly glad I was right, for it would have been most embarrassing had I not been."

After the young brunette's swift justification of her accusation, William Spears adjusted his glasses. Though his facial expression didn't change, he seemed to look upon her in a new light, which Aria hoped was one of regard instead of annoyance. He seemed a man disinclined to let people get too close; a person that keeps his thoughts and emotions reined in. She found people like that spectacularly interesting.

"You were right, Doctor," he said after a time. "Absurdly simple."

Aria smiled. "See? I should never explain my reasoning; it shows just how much of a parlor trick my deductions actually are."

"I hate to interrupt the flirting," Lynn piped up from behind her boss, "but you said you had some information regarding Undertaker?"

At this Aria instantly sobered. "Yes, sadly. I'd rather had I not been dragged into this business again, but I have been given little choice."

Her sister looked interested. "Something has happened?"

"Something has, sister mine," the pathologist confirmed. "The Undertaker has sent me a message."

"A message?" Her sister looked alarmed.

"Do you have it with you?" William interjected, suddenly very interested in what the young woman had to say.

Aria looked up at him and shook her head. The expression she wore was quite grave, and William hardly wanted to dwell on what that entailed, but sadly, that was exactly what he had to do. Lord, he was not being paid enough for this.

"Then where is this message, Doctor?" he questioned, needing to know but dreading the answer.

"Lying on a slab in my morgue." She watched as the realization hit her audience.

"The message is a body?" Both reapers shouted this in unison, making it quite a loud inquiry.

"Indeed. Perhaps we'd better sit down?"

"Perhaps we'd better," Lynn concurred, gesturing to the chairs behind her.

As the psychiatrist sat in her accustomed spot, Aria sat across from her, and William pulled out a wooden chair from beside Lynn's writing desk. The elder of the Sinclair sisters noticed his move toward the most uncomfortable seat in the room even before she herself sat down. Amazing, she thought, how gentlemanly the face of death was.

"Pray continue your intriguing story, Dr. Sinclair," William requested once they had all been seated.

"Of course," Aria continued, crossing her ankles and leaning one elbow on an arm of the chair. She then proceeded to tell the company all about her strange morning, leaving out not a single detail. After she had finished, her listeners were stunned.

"Stonehart Asylum?" her sister asked again. "You're sure he was referring to Stonehart Asylum?"

"What else could he possibly be referring to, Lynn?" Aria parried. "There are not many things a missing heart and brain could mean."

"And you're sure this so called message was from the Undertaker?" William asked. "Not from some organ harvester who happened to leave a corpse at your door?"

"If that man were the victim of an organ harvester then more organs than that of his heart and brain would have been missing. Also, his predator hardly would have taken the time out of his or her day to stitch up his gaping wounds, sneak him into a hospital morgue and leave him there for me to find and alert the authorities." The look in her eye was anything but humorous, and Mr. Spears had to concede to her logic.

"We are dealing with a vicious and skilled individual," Aria continued. "Not only was this man cruelly used, he was inhumanely incapacitated before his death. His body showed signs of being restrained, and the marks were bruised enough to conclude that he had not consented to his captivity. Now, it is well known that I am the head of that morgue, seeing as there aren't very many female doctors flooding the capital these days, so whoever laid the body out meant for me to see it. The only individual I know who is unable to send me a proper telegram, has the skill to do this, and the questionable mental state required for such a macabre sense of humor is the Undertaker."

Silence permeated the room as the tension grew to a palpable level. They had to do something about the Undertaker, that much was certain. If this corpse was anything to go by, as seemed to be the case, then Undertaker's crimes were escalating from Frankenstein tinkering to monstrously barbaric. No longer was he simply playing with the cinematic records of the dead to lengthen the body's life span, he was tormenting living humans and forcing them to serve as his guinea pigs. The very idea was revolting.

"There is one thing that puzzles me, however," William voiced, breaking the stifling quiet. "After successfully hiding away from both human and reaper law, why run the risk of contacting you, Doctor? Surely he couldn't believe that you would willingly give your assistance?"

Aria's eyes met those of the reaper supervisor, and in those emerald depths she divined the real question he was asking.

"I am not in collusion with the Undertaker, Mr. Spears, though I understand your suspicion. Quite frankly, I have no idea why he has decided to contact me. The only thing I can think of is that he wants my assistance with his experiments. As far as I know, the man wasn't particularly close to anyone, and I may be the only person of medical standing that he is on friendly terms with. Perhaps he thought he could entice me to Stonehart Asylum with the mystery of the corpse and convince me to join him in his undertakings."

The straight face she gave to her own pun almost cracked William's stony façade. Almost.

"It would make sense," William continued in her stead. "As far as we are aware, he has no reason to suspect that you have been informed of the true nature of his absence and experiments. He must still assume that you are ignorant of grim reapers and his own crimes. Taking this into account, there would be no reason for you to be afraid of making contact with him, though he must know the corpse he sent would make you suspicious."

"Then there only remains one question," Aria announced, the corners of her mouth dipping into a frown. "Do I go to him or not?"

Oddly, no one seemed keen to answer that question just yet.

* * *

So, we've finally met William T. Spears. Being as he's my favorite Black Butler character, let's hope I do him justice in my writing. On another note, Undertaker has finally been in contact, and now the main plot of the story begins! Our lovely characters have no idea what he's up to, of course, but they can be sure it's nothing good.

Please let me know what you think. I love hearing from all of you!


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't simply not answer him," Aria pointed out. "He'll get suspicious, and we may just have the upper hand."

"We, Madam?" William asked in a distinctly unamused tone.

Aria's answering glare returned the sentiment. "Do not presume that I am attempting to inveigle my way into your investigation, Mr. Spears. I would be more than happy to let you lot take care of it, but, for reasons outside of my power, I have been most decidedly brought into this business. At the moment, I may be the best way you've got at apprehending your precious Undertaker, so I would appreciate it if you stopped patronizing me."

The lady never once raised her voice, but William found himself being surprised by her for the second time in one sitting.

"You wish to help, Dr. Sinclair?" William inquired, looking at her pointedly.

"If my help is required to bring this mad man to justice, then yes, I would like to be of service."

With a hushed sigh, William checked his pocket watch and stood from his seat. "Then I suggest we regroup to decide on a course of action. Dr. Sinclair," here he looked at Lynn, "would your practice survive an early closing?"

The psychiatrist, who had been slouching in her seat this whole time, stood as well. "It offends me that you have to ask, William," she stated, going to lock the front door and draw the curtains.

Feeling dreadfully uninformed, Aria stood from her chair as well and turned to William. "And where, pray, are we regrouping?"

"Grim Reaper Headquarters," the man answered. At the slight widening of her eyes, his mouth drew into a small smirk. "There is no need to worry. Humans are not typically brought to the reaper realm, but it is not unheard of."

Catching the change in his demeanor, Aria stated, "Should I be affronted by your apparent amusement in my discomfort?"

His smirk widened. "Whatever are you talking about, Doctor?"

"This is getting weird you two," Lynn muttered as she walked toward them.

"On the contrary, I think you're the one making this weird, Lynn," Aria returned, glancing at her sister. "Returning to the matter at hand, you said something about a reaper realm? Will we be taking one of those boom tube devices you were telling me about, Lynn? Despite the similarity in the name, I have a sneaking suspicion we're not about to board the underground."

"Once again, Dr. Sinclair, you are correct in your assumptions," William said. "A boom tube, though typically called the tube in our realm, helps us reapers travel to and from the human and reaper realms instantaneously. It is a marvelous device for keeping people on schedule for collections."

"This all sounds rather fanciful," Aria admitted. "Is there a specific way to do it? I don't want to get lost between realms or something of that nature."

Looking down at her, William stated, "I don't believe anything of the kind is going to happen, but it will be a shocking thing your first time. So as not to lose your bearings, hold on to me."

With an air of apprehension, Aria took hold of the arm he offered her and prepared to hold on tight.

Lynn thought of commenting on this, but decided against it. She'd have more people to back her up on her teasing when they arrived at headquarters.

"Are you quite ready, ladies?" William asked, looking to both of the doctors in turn.

"Yup," Lynn responded.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Aria replied honestly.

Without another word, the reaper supervisor slid up a latch on his death scythe and pressed a small black button. Within moments, a circular portal of light erupted in the cozy sitting room, causing Aria to flinch back in surprise. William felt her instinctive move toward self preservation and laid one hand upon hers. The last thing he needed was a skittish passenger.

"Ladies first," he nodded at Lynn.

The woman in question gave a mock smile and jumped into the blinding portal. After the psychiatrist had disappeared, William turned to her sister.

"Now it's our turn."

"Bring it on," she returned, grinning mischievously.

Taking that as his cue, he led the doctor to the precipice, and they jumped simultaneously into the void.

)*(

The first thing Aria experienced was a feeling of weighlessness, as though gravity and time had just stopped. The sensation was definitely nerve-racking, but she couldn't close her eyes as she continued floating toward an unknown destination in an unending vacuum of nothingness. Indeed, the only way she knew she was moving at all was from the indescribable sense of constant propulsion that her body was undergoing. There was nothing in her field of vision she could compare to her relative position, just a known fact that she was indeed going somewhere.

Then, as abruptly as it began, the sensation stopped, and her feet hit solid ground. Though she had not closed her eyes during their trip, it still took her a moment or two to get her bearings in her new surroundings. Though the blinding intensity of the white light was gone, the room they were currently standing in was still well lit. Upon further investigation, this abundance of natural illumination was pouring through the outer wall of the building in which they had landed, this section being made entirely out of glass. The whole setting was really very modern, Aria thought, what with its love of ninety degree angles and newfangled technology. Why, right above their heads hung electric lights to such a degree that made Aria wonder how they could afford them and why they bothered making a wall of glass in the first place. The presence of such a structure was made superfluous, surely?

After her wondering gaze had made a full circuit of her surroundings (which looked to be a hallway in a building of enormous proportions), she was snapped out of her thoughts by a voice addressing her from above.

"Welcome to the Grim Reaper Dispatch Association," William T. Spears spoke in his clipped authoritative manner. "This way, if you'll please."

Striding directly forward, he pulled a key out of his trouser pocket and inserted it into a lock on a door directly in front of them. Before the door was swung open, Aria was able to make out the nameplate reading "William T. Spears, London District Supervisor".

Stepping to the side, William allowed the ladies to enter his office first. The instant Aria stepped into the room, she was struck with just how orderly it was. She had assumed upon meeting him and taking in his polished persona that Mr. Spears was a very disciplined individual who exceeded at his job, and that his office would reflect that, but this was such an astounding level of organization that Aria was thoroughly impressed. The surface of his mahogany desk was so clean it shown under the overhead light, and everything on top of it was set straight and neat as a pin. The bookcase at the far end of the room was alphabetized and color coordinated within an inch of its life, and there seemed to be no dust whatsoever. Even the blinds closed against the window to the right of the entryway were perfectly clean and straight. Aria felt like she was breaking a law just stepping on the carpet.

"You ladies have a seat and I'll have the rest of the reapers working the Undertaker case brought in." As he said this he stepped out the door to flag down a passing employee.

The sisters did as they were bid and sat down in the two leather seats facing William's desk. When the man himself returned, he took his own seat then proceeded to skim through the file that he had collected at Lynn's residence. The room remained quiet until there was a timid knock at the door.

"Enter," William called out, not moving his eyes from the papers before him.

The door swung open, and the two women turned to see who the visitor was. In stepped a man that both doctors recognized.

"Hello, Ron," Lynn greeted, smiling over at him from where she sat. "Long time no see."

The slender blond looked over at her and grinned. "Hey, Lynn," he returned. "Are we in trouble then?" That's when he caught sight of Aria. "Oy, it would seem we are."

"You are not in trouble, Knox," William corrected from his desk. "Now quit your dawdling and come inside."

Releasing a sigh and going to scratch the back of his neck, the youth complied and went to lean against Aria's chair.

"A pleasure to see you again, doll," he said, smiling down at her.

The doctor gave an expression between exasperation and mild amusement. "Are you attempting to flirt with me, Mr. Knox?"

"Is it that obvious?" he asked, tilting his head to the side in a ploy of innocence.

"Rather. I suggest you stop early and save us both the time."

"Ouch! Right in the heart!" The blond's statement was both melodramatic and louder than necessary, but served to end the conversation on a friendly note, making both of the participants smile.

William seemed amused too, though more by Aria's swift rejection than by Ronald's performance. But before Ronald could comment on his display of any type of emotion, they were interrupted.

"You can't win 'em all, Ron my boy."

All eyes turned to see a tall, buff blond, with his hair pulled into tight braids on the right side of his head. His glasses were tinted light blue, and he had an air of nonchalance coupled with common sense which put Aria at ease. His tie was loose and the first few buttons on his shirt were undone, making him look less business like and more ladies' man.

Beside him stood a shorter man with brown hair and wire rimmed spectacles. His clothes were neater than his friend's, and instead of a tie he wore a ribbon with a skull pendant as the centerpiece. He was very slender, quite pale, and had a calm, peaceful air to him. His eyes were kind and shown with a depth of feeling that Aria could not begin to speculate.

"Slingby, Humphries," William acknowledged, inclining his head to show he was aware of their presence.

"Spears," the blond returned, stepping into the room.

"Mr. Spears," the brunette greeted, following his companion.

The blond walked toward Ronald, chuckling slightly. He was the one who had made the earlier comment.

"Ah, come on, Eric. No need to tease me. Don't you think I've been punished enough?" Ronald whined, turning to speak to the other man.

"You, Ron? Never," Eric replied, smirking. "You flirt shamelessly with anything in a skirt."

"Do not," Ronald pouted. "Aren't you going to defend me, Alan?" he asked, turning to the brunette.

"How can I when the evidence is so strongly stacked against you?" Alan inquired in a soft voice, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

"You lot are mean, I tell you," Ronald muttered to himself, turning away from the newcomers.

"Hello, Dr. Sinclair," Alan said, addressing Lynn.

"Hello, Alan," she returned. "How have things been? I haven't seen you in a while."

"Getting better," the man answered, turning his attention to Aria. "And who is the victim of Ronald's attention?"

"Victim?" Ronald exclaimed, offended. No one paid him any mind.

"This is my older sister, Dr. Aria Sinclair. She is a pathologist at the Royal London Hospital."

That's when Eric and Alan noticed her eyes. They were a dark brown, almost like chocolate, and most decidedly not green.

"I see," Alan murmured softly, obviously surprised. Catching himself, he smiled. "Excuse me. I don't mean to be rude, Dr. Sinclair, it's just that I'm shocked to see someone like you here."

"I can imagine," Aria responded good-humoredly. "If it's any consolation, I'm shocked to be here myself."

Alan warmed up to her instantly, and was about to inquire after her career when there was a loud groan at the door.

Turning once more, all eyes landed on quite possibly the reddest person Aria had ever seen.

"William, dear, tell me why I have been dragged out of my office and forced to march all the way up -"

He stopped abruptly midsentence as his gaze singled out someone in the room.

"Elle!" he shouted jubilantly, darting into the crowd of people and flinging himself at Lynn. He had her out of her seat and locked in an embrace within seconds.

Her feet were dangling in the air, and her face was threatening to become just as red as the man's hair when a cold voice commanded, "Sutcliff, put Dr. Sinclair down this instant."

With a sigh that told of loss and heartbreak, the redhead placed Lynn back in her seat and turned to his boss.

"You're so cruel, William! You know I haven't seen my Elle in such a long time! How can you stand to keep two lovers apart in such a callous manner?"

His shrill voice reverberated throughout the room, and Aria saw William's eyebrow twitch.

"I'd rather not have one of my employees strangled in my office as her sister watched on."

Here Sutcliff turned his attention to Aria, and when her brown eyes locked with his green, she remembered where she had heard his name before.

This was Grell Sutcliff. Lynn's savior and half of Jack the Ripper.

She was scared out of her wits now.

Grell saw the way her eyes widened and he grinned, sporting shark teeth that only he seemed to have. "Is it possible that you know who I am, my dear?"

Given the mixed feelings she held toward Grell (he had saved her sister from certain death, but he was half of Jack the Ripper, damn it!), she deemed it best not to answer his query.

"Don't be an ass, Grell," Lynn stated, looking unamused.

"But, Elle, I just wanted to know if she was aware of our relationship is all."

Aria frowned at that. Savior or no, this man was Jack the Ripper. He didn't exactly strike her as a great person to be with in any type of relationship. Still, Aria hardly thought now was the appropriate time to argue with her sister regarding her taste in men. They had a reason for being here, after all. Pushing aside her rising nausea, she turned to William with pleading eyes. He seemed to catch the drift.

"You may take that up with your girlfriend's sister later, Sutcliff. At the moment, we have more pressing matters to discuss."

Grell released yet another sigh, but this one seemed to be of resignation. Leaning against Lynn's chair, he got comfortable and turned his attention to what his boss had to say.

"Now," William began, sounding for all the world like he was addressing a board room of businessmen on some everyday topic, "the elder Dr. Sinclair has informed myself and her sister of a most interesting development. It would seem that the fugitive, Undertaker, has been in contact with her."

The entire room started as though this was the most fantastical thing they had ever heard.

William went on to explain the corpse Aria had been left at the morgue and the cryptic clues therein.

"Therefore," he continued, "we have concluded that Undertaker is most probably in residence or working out of Stonehart Asylum. The question now becomes what move do we take next? I would appreciate your input as the agents on this case."

No suggestions were immediately forthcoming, however. Everyone's first thought, of course, was to gander out to Stonehart Asylum, take Undertaker into custody and have done with the whole ghastly business, but that was not a plausible solution. Firstly, they weren't completely sure that the Undertaker was really at the asylum, and causing a commotion without producing positive results would end in a mountain of paperwork that no one was yearning to climb.

Then there came the question of infiltration. Reapers had done it in the past for a number of strange circumstances, but not many were skilled enough to pull it off, especially not a roll that would probably require at least a smidgeon of medical or psychiatric know how. Besides, a few of the reapers in the room had seen Undertaker face to face in the past, and their infiltration into Stonehart Asylum would cause instant red flags if Undertaker happened to lay eyes on them.

Add to that the fact that the only reason they were aware of Undertaker's association with Stonehart Asylum was a twisted message he had sent to Aria, and they were put at a standstill.

It was obvious that forcing their way in was out of the question. It was too risky a move to chance it.

Their best bet for infiltration in their company was Lynn, as she was a practicing psychiatrist, but the message had not been sent to her. If Aria did not respond to the Undertaker soon, then he may become suspicious and decamp, and that was the last thing they needed.

Releasing a sigh, William racked his brain for the best possible alternative. He absolutely did not want to send Aria - a human and one of his employee's relatives - into almost ensured danger, but he wasn't coming up with many other options. This may be the best opportunity they ever got at capturing the Undertaker in his own game. Was passing it up a luxury they had?

As if suddenly hearing his own thoughts voiced, Aria remarked, "I have to answer him. There is simply no other way to go about this."

The grim reaper supervisor looked up from the paper he had been blankly staring at and into the eyes of the woman sitting across from him. She was such a small thing: short, slender and petite in build. She certainly didn't seem a force to be reckoned with. If the lady came to physical harm, what would she be able to do for herself? The idea did not sit well with him.

"Dr. Sinclair," he began, "I do not think it prudent to send you into such a dangerous situation. You could very well be hurt or worse. Perhaps we could send your sister in your stead."

Even as he said it he knew it was impossible.

"If Undertaker is expecting me to come, then my sister's presence would immediately cause suspicion. Besides, I can't possibly see how bringing harm to me would service any of his purposes. Indeed, if that is the sole reason of his message, then I think he's going about the job in a very round about way."

Aria's words made sense, of course. After she had finished, William leaned back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. He did not get paid enough for this.

"Honestly..." he muttered.

Aria smirked. So that is why Ronald had been so jumpy when they first met.

"Very well," William relented, coming forward and propping his elbows on the plain of the desk. "You may go to the asylum under one condition."

Aria cocked an eyebrow. "And that condition would be?"

"You must have someone there as your backup in case something goes wrong. You can never tell what will happen when dealing with madmen, and an asylum is the perfect setting for all kind of mischief."

"Agreed," Aria consented easily. "Contrary to what you might think, I have no desire to die in the near future if it can be helped. Any type of assistance you can offer me will be immensely appreciated."

"I could go in as backup," Lynn offered. "I know my way around an asylum well enough, I should think."

William shook his head. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but you would give your sister away. You are well known to the people of the psychiatric community, being one of the only female practitioners. Someone would undoubtedly recognize you, even if you went under a pseudonym."

"Well, Ronny and I are obviously out of the question," Grell announced, hand on hip. "The old coot would recognize us from the Campania, and that would blow little Aria's cover instantly."

The doctor made an irritated face at Grell's new nickname for her, but she didn't say anything. William didn't seem to notice and simply agreed with Grell's point.

"Yes, you and Knox are definitely out of the question, and Alan, I'm afraid you are too. I don't know how long this operation will last, and I don't want to risk you having an attack in the interim. That would jeopardize both the mission and your well being, and I can't have that."

Alan nodded sagely, and Aria wondered just what kind of attack a grim reaper could suffer that would be detrimental to their health, but she decided now was not the best time to ask.

The only other option left was Eric Slingby, and William still wasn't satisfied. Eric, though physically capable and good at his job, tended to be volatile at times and let his emotions get in the way of his judgment. Though William had no doubt Eric could go in undetected and protect Aria from harm should she come to any, he couldn't dismiss the fact that the man himself may instigate the conflict he desperately needed to avoid.

One look from the man in question told William that he concurred with his assessment. Well, that left only one person then.

"If you will permit," the supervisor spoke, addressing the young doctor, "I will take it upon myself to offer you any type of protection you may need during your investigation. I hope this arrangement is agreeable to you?"

"Perfectly," Aria nodded, slightly relieved that her partner in crime would be William himself. Grell and Ronald didn't inspire much confidence, and she knew next to nothing about Eric and Alan. Although she had just met William a few hours ago, her intuition told her he could be trusted. He seemed very competent when it came to his job, and she doubted he would do anything foolish that would put their mission at risk.

"Then it is settled," William stated, sliding his pocket watch out of his jacket pocket and checking the time, "and quite swiftly too, which is even better. The rest of you may return to your duties. As for you, Dr. Sinclair, you may have to write ahead and alert the director of the asylum that you intend to make a visit."

"Way ahead of you, Mr. Spears," she smiled, pulling out her pen and stationary she had procured from the morgue. "I brought the essentials just in case you wanted me to write anything specific. Am I free to do this bit on my own?"

He nearly laughed at her efficiency. If only half of his employees were that good.

"Yes, I think it is safe to allow you to write your own letter. Feel free to use my desk. I shall be gone filing the necessary paperwork for my extended absence."

"Thank you. I shall make sure that everything is in its proper place when you return. You won't even know I was there."

He gave a small smile. "I'll hold you to that, Doctor."

Turning to leave the room, he saw that the rest of the company was still standing there and frowned. "Don't you lot have work to do?" he inquired, eyes hard.

"Er - yes, Mr. Spears! Right on it, sir!" Ronald stuttered, swiftly making his way out of the room and back to wherever it was he had been before the summons.

"Of course, Mr. Spears," Alan said calmly, inclining his head in respect and leaving the room with a grumpy looking Eric in his wake.

"You needn't be so cruel," Grell whined, heading for the door. Turning back, he looked over at Lynn and said, "Care to have lunch with me, Elle? We could chat and make up for lost time."

Said woman grinned from ear to ear and nodded eagerly. "How could I say no? Of course I'll have lunch with you, hot stuff."

It took all of Aria's self control not to smack her head against the wall, and William too seemed to be actively ignoring the couple.

As the psychiatrist got up to join her beau, she looked back into the room with a glimmer in her eyes. "Don't get up to anything naughty while we're gone, now, you two," she cooed, winking in her sister's direction.

Aria failed at hiding a blush of embarrassment.

"Out!" William barked, sending the couple running out the door and down the hall, giggling all the way.

Meanwhile Aria and William were plotting their slow and painful demise with an unwitting similarity.

"I must apologize on their behalf," William expressed regretfully. "They say whatever pops into their minds and care nothing for the consequences."

Aria smiled in understanding sympathy. "You seem to forget that I lived with one of those lunatics for a good portion of my life. Believe me, I know what you mean, and you have nothing to apologize for."

"So long as they didn't cause you undue discomfort," William sighed, adjusting his glasses. It seemed to be a nervous tick.

"I'm sure I'll survive the ordeal," Aria assured him, moving to his desk. "Now, didn't you say there was some necessary paperwork you had to take care of? I can't very well stealthily use your desk with you in the room."

He smiled at that and made to leave. "I'm holding you to your promise, Doctor. I expect to return unable to find a hint of you having used my desk."

"I won't disappoint, Mr. Spears. Though, for the sake of convenience, you may call me Aria from now on. With both me and my sister as your acquaintances, addressing one or the other of us as Dr. Sinclair can be a bit confusing."

There was a moment's pause before he spoke. "Of course you are right. Then if you so wish... Aria... you may call me William."

"Will do, William," Aria returned. "I'll get to writing that letter now. I intend to have it sent out this afternoon."

"Yes, of course. I'll leave you to it then." And he made his retreat. Thankfully, he got out without her having noticed the faint flush that had been making itself known on his face.

* * *

Hello, everybody! I've finally updated a new chapter for you, my (exceedingly patient) readers. Being the evil person I am, I sent poor William undercover. Hopefully he has some other civilian clothes than the outfit he worn while infiltrating the Noah's Ark Circus, or the people of Stonehart may just decide he's a patient.

Thank you all so much for your lovely reviews! I know I don't often have the time to answer most of them, but I read them all and appreciate them immensely. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

"What's up with Mr. Spears and your sister?" Ronald asked bluntly as he stuffed his face with noodles.

The group was having lunch together in the building's large cafeteria and all of them were quite surprised that William had offered to go undercover for a woman. A human woman. And he hated, positively _loathed_ going undercover. It didn't make any sense.

Lynn shrugged. "Beats me. They have been flirting with each other the entire time, and the sad thing is that I don't even know if they've noticed."

"Spears wouldn't," Eric interjected, poking at his food in wry disgust.

"Neither would Aria," Lynn informed them. "It's painful to watch sometimes, truth be told."

"Maybe Willy's finally tired of being alone," Grell input, sipping daintily at his as of yet unidentified red beverage.

"Perhaps he is interested in her," Alan chimed in, taking a healthy forkful of his salad. "They seem to get along rather well. Does Aria have any male callers as far as you are aware?"

"None that she'd spare the time for," Lynn answered truthfully. "She is fully absorbed in her work."

"Sounds like someone we know," Eric muttered, finally giving up on his cafeteria food.

"I say they should get together," Ronald opined, smiling cheekily. "Mr. Spears definitely needs a woman to loosen him up."

"I for one would love to see the both of them in a relationship," Lynn gave her agreement. "But I'm afraid they're both slow movers."

"Maybe the imminent danger of their upcoming investigation will speed matters along," Eric said, resting his chin in his hand.

"Perhaps," Lynn sighed. "I'm interested in seeing how events will play out."

)*(

The pain. The pain was unbearable. It made everything stop. Everything. Everything except the white hot burning intensity of complete and utter torment. His brain wasn't working. He couldn't think. Or maybe he was a she. Was he a she? She couldn't remember. All he could feel was pain. Horrendous, inescapable pain. She should shout, call for help. Or was he doing that already? Why was nobody helping her? Why was nobody stopping the pain? The _pain._ Why was this happening? Oh God, make it stop, _make it stop!_

)*(

The tea was good, but then again, Sebastian's tea was always good. He would never compliment him, of course. That kind of praise would only go to the demon's head, and he'd rather not deal with a haughty fiend of hell. The creature was bad enough as it was.

His solitude was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Enter," he commanded, placing the teacup back in its saucer and setting the both of them on his desk.

Just as the rattle of the china had died away, Sebastian Michaelis stepped into the room, posture perfect and clothes immaculate. How could anyone expect anything less? He was the butler to the Phantomhive's after all.

"What is it then?" Ciel inquired, peering over at his butler clad in black. The man always had a superior way about him that irritated the Earl. He was supposed to be his inferior, a servant. What business did he have wearing a smirk like that all the time?

"A letter arrived for you, sir," the raven haired man explained smoothly. In a few long strides he was at the Earl's side, missive in hand.

"If it's another bloody party invitation..." Ciel began, irritation rising. For the love of all that's good and holy, if he had to sign another letter of declination he was going to declare himself a hermit and stop receiving mail all together.

"I'm afraid it's a trifle more intriguing than that, my young Lord," his butler declared, leaning down to hand him the message. "Her majesty sends her regards."

The boy started at this. "Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?"

"You didn't ask, my Lord."

Ciel shot a breath of air through clenched teeth and glared up at his butler. "I do recall asking what it was that you had." He was piqued now.

His butler smiled innocently. "I do not mean to speak out of turn, sir, but I did tell you it was a letter. Perhaps you meant to ask from whom it was sent?"

The Earl's temper was now provoked. Yanking the letter out of his impertinent butler's hand, he sliced it open and read through its contents.

"Apparently there have been rumors regarding mysterious practices at an asylum out in the country. Her Majesty wishes to dispel the employees' fears and has asked me to make inquiries."

"An asylum, my Lord?" Sebastian asked, arching a flawless eyebrow.

"Indeed. Stonehart Asylum, evidently. I confess I don't know much about it, but that's going to change. Pull all the information you can find on this establishment. Leave nothing out. Only after I have reviewed all the facts can I then make a battle plan."

"Is it to be war then, sir?" Sebastian asked, tilting his head to the side.

"It is to be whatever the Queen needs it to be. What are you waiting for? I've given you your orders, get a move on!"

"Yes, my young Lord."

)*(

The carriage jostled and jolted to an amount that Aria found ridiculous. It wasn't as though the road they were traversing was gravel. It was dirt. Dry, packed earth. What did the carriage find so objectionable about that?

As she repositioned herself in her seat for what seemed the millionth time, she stared out the window into the open countryside. It was beautiful, in a bleak sort of way. The land was mostly flat with only the faintest peppering of trees. The leaden sky gave the setting an eerie backdrop, as the hard land stretched out for miles to meet it at the horizon. To make up for the loss of greenery, rocks jutted out of the earth's crust, some flat and smooth, others resembling the teeth from the maw of a gigantic beast.

Perhaps her imagination was running away with her, but she found herself wondering why asylums couldn't be built at places that contained sunshine and wildlife. If she were locked in a cell all day with only this barren stretch of landscape as her view, she would go insane too.

At least her grim thoughts served to pass the time, for the next moment she espied the destination itself.

There up ahead stood Stonehart Asylum in all its glory. It was a massive edifice, to be sure. With wide front steps leading to strong oak doors and turrets that shot up to the sky, the image was quite imposing. The building was made out of tough gray stone, probably from local quarries, and sported black, dripping stains from the rain it had weathered over the many years of its existence. Many of the windows belonging to the upper floors seemed shuttered up. This trend continued - as far as she could make out - all the way up the structure. In general, the place was quite gloomy, and she wasn't looking forward to the time she would be spending in this medical prison.

On a positive note, the jostling of the carriage stopped with her arrival.

She could feel the shift of the vehicle as the driver jumped from his post to open the door. Offering her his hand, he helped her disembark. She tipped him for his kindness, and turned to gaze up at the building before her. As the man hopped back onto his seat and began to whip the horses up, one of the front doors of the asylum opened.

The person that appeared before her was a tall, dour woman wearing both a black dress and a frown as though they were part of her uniform. Her light brown hair was graying slightly and swept back neatly in a tight bun, not one strand out of place. If this specimen was a representation of the asylum as a whole, the patients already had her full sympathy.

"Dr. Aria Sinclair, I presume," the woman called out, more a statement than a question. Indeed, Aria could hardly imagine who else would be coming out to visit this establishment willingly.

"I am she," the doctor responded, smiling kindly as she mounted the front steps toward the matron. It wouldn't do to be unnecessarily rude, despite the cold welcome.

"Dr. Carmichael is expecting you. Follow me."

The woman shut and locked the solid door behind her and started through the foyer.

Miffed at not having received an introduction or even a courteous "please", Dr. Sinclair followed after her guide.

The interior of the asylum was hardly more welcoming than the exterior. Given all the shuttered windows, the place was dark and dreary and smelt very much of burnt wick and candle wax. The foyer seemed to be furnished nicely, if sparsely. There was a fireplace (unlit, Aria noted), with two chairs facing it. No loungers would be gleaning any warmth from that direction. Off to the left hand side of the door was a receptionist's counter where visitors would check in and ask after their respective patient, if visitors there were. Behind this counter was yet another austerely dressed woman, this one younger and meek. She had stood at attention when Aria had been admitted, and had since sat back down, never taking her eyes from the floor.

Aria couldn't help wondering what brought such a young thing to a place like this.

Turning her attention back to her guide, she saw that the woman was now mounting a central staircase that branched off to either side, leading to a first and a second storey. The banisters seemed to be newly polished, with a distinct lack of dust. Then again, maybe that was just the lack of light playing tricks on her deprived vision.

Her guide continued her dutiful march until she reached the first storey, turning left where the staircase split. Looking back down at the ground floor from her bird's eye view, Aria couldn't help but remark upon the vast amount of empty space the asylum had open. If no patients were outside or allowed in the foyer, where were they permitted to walk and stretch their legs when not in their cells? Surely they weren't kept in their cages perpetually? Treatment like that could hardly facilitate recovery. Indeed, methods such as that could hardly be called treatment at all.

Eventually, her view of the ground floor was obstructed by the wall of a corridor they had entered. The walls were smooth, white plaster, but looked gray in the dim light. Lamps, affixed to the wall at equal intervals, stretched down the length of the hallway on both sides, granting the inhabitants of the asylum the ability to at least see where they were going. Finally, the matron stopped at a dark wooden door that seemed to be slightly more ornate than the rest. A nameplate reading "Dr. Lawrence Carmichael" shone in the feeble lamplight. The matron knocked twice.

"Dr. Sinclair to see you, sir," she relayed through the obstruction.

There was no answer at first, and Aria was beginning to wonder if he was in when the door swung open unexpectedly. Even the matron, who up until then had expressed no emotion, seemed a little startled and took a step back.

"Dr. Sinclair," she muttered again, waving her hand toward Aria in a weak gesture of introduction.

Aria smiled once more. "Thank you for having me, Dr. Carmichael. It is a pleasure to finally meet you." She lifted her hand for a shake.

Dr. Carmichael, who seemed to be relatively young from what Aria could make out, didn't show any signs of having noticed her speak. Indeed, he stared at her blankly, as though looking but not really seeing. Suddenly, he shook his head and straightened up, apparently snapping out of whatever daze he had been in. If this was the way all of the staff acted, Aria thought, then perhaps it would be better if they themselves were the patients.

"Oh, my apologies," Dr. Carmichael began, brushing invisible dust from his white coat. "I had a late night last night, so I hope you find it in yourself to excuse my manners."

Here he finally took her hand in his and gave it a shake.

It was weak.

"Think nothing of it, Dr. Carmichael," Aria replied, acting as though nothing were amiss. "I understand the symptoms of working late nights. Once again, I must thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. I hope I'm not being an unnecessary burden?"

Dropping his hand back to his side, Dr. Carmichael smiled nervously. "Oh, no, not at all, Dr. Sinclair. Indeed, I was delighted to receive your letter. We get so few visitors out here, and I would be delighted to speak to a colleague. Please, do come in."

He stepped aside to let her through the door.

"Thank you Ms. Dunne," he addressed the matron, inclining his head slightly.

She bowed and left down the hall from whence she came.

With the door finally closed behind them, Dr. Carmichael spun on his heel and faced Dr. Sinclair.

"What do you think of our humble abode?" he asked genially, walking back toward his desk.

Now that she finally got a good look at him, Aria could see that he was indeed a fairly young doctor to be the director of such a large asylum. His hair was a light, almost ethereal blonde, his eyes a pale blue. Probably due to the lack of sunlight their surroundings permitted and the nature of his job, his skin was also very pale. On the bridge of his nose rested wire-rimmed spectacles which seemed to serve more as reading glasses than those of perpetual wear.

All in all, he could be considered an attractive man, though some sun would do him good.

Then again, some sun would do her good as well.

"From what I've seen of it," Aria began, choosing her words carefully, "it certainly seems very well kept. It's quite clean."

"Yes," Carmichael agreed, "the maids do quite a good job keeping up appearances. And Ms. Dunne. Did she give you a warm welcome?"

Here Aria's expression turned more professional. "To be quite honest, Dr. Carmichael, it could have been warmer."

The man nodded as though he had been expecting the answer. "Yes, Ms. Dunne, though quite efficient, is a little stiff in her ways. You understand that I can't afford to dismiss her. Not many people wish to come and work at an asylum out in the middle of nowhere, and she rules over the staff with a hand of iron. All the maids and nurses listen to her without question, and that kind of order is essential when running such a large establishment."

"I agree completely, Doctor, though maybe you could have somebody other than the formidable Ms. Dunne greet visitors. The lady at the front desk may be a better choice for that line of work." She kept her voice congenial so he may not think she was questioning his authority.

He thought over her suggestion for a moment. "Perhaps you are right. This change can be made at a later date. We rarely receive visitors."

"Of course," Aria consented, turning to the window that commanded a view of the courtyard and drive leading up to the asylum.

After a moment of silence during which Dr. Carmichael sat down at his desk, Aria faced him, expression unreadable.

"Dr. Carmichael, I am going to be frank with you." Her tone was calm and formal, but icy.

Dr. Carmichael was rendered speechless.

Slowly, she made her way over to his desk.

"I received a message at my morgue at the Royal London Hospital," she began.

He crossed his legs then uncrossed them.

"A message?" he asked, voice a little higher pitched than before.

"Yes. Well, I suppose it would be more accurate to say that I received a body."

He coughed. "Dr. Sinclair, I don't see what this has to do -"

"Don't forget, the body was a message, Dr. Carmichael. A message that led me to your doorstep."

She was directly in front of his desk now. He averted his eyes.

"The body was that of a man who showed signs of being restrained. His brain was missing and his heart had been replaced with a stone."

"What are you saying, Dr. Sinclair?" he asked, his tone hostile now. "You have absolutely no right to come in here and speak to me like this, colleague or otherwise."

He stood up from where he sat, planted his hands on the desktop and leaned over to her.

"State your business and get out."

His voice took on a low, gravely sound; it hinted at danger.

Aria placed her hands on the desk softly, caressing the wood. She leaned over to meet the director of Stonehart Asylum eye for eye.

With a smile that belied her intentions, she looked up at him and asked softly, "Where is the Undertaker?"

His heart could have stopped in his chest.

"I... I don't know..."

"Don't play coy with me, Dr. Carmichael. I simply don't have the time. Tell me where the Undertaker is, or I will be forced to report this incident to the proper authorities."

"Well," a smooth voice drawled, "we wouldn't want you to do something as reckless as that, now would we, Dr. Sin?"

Aria's eyes widened fractionally, and she stood up from the desk. Spinning around, she faced the one person she had been seeking for so long.

"Undertaker." Her calm demeanor covered for her racing heart.

"Aria." His voice was suave and clear, not the shaky, trembling lilt she recalled.

His hat had disappeared, and the long bangs that used to cover his face were brushed back, revealing his eyes. His brilliant, unusual green eyes.

"So, you received my message, then?" he asked, closing the door and stepping farther into the room. "That's good. I was afraid you wouldn't come."

He was close now, an arm's distance away.

"Why would you think that?" she asked, taking in his new persona.

His robes were gone too, she noted.

"You look confused," he remarked, smiling softly. "I haven't seen you in a while. I've missed you. Have you missed me?"

He was right in front of her now.

"You've changed," she stated, dodging the question. "Were you tired of your wardrobe?"

He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. "You could say that," he murmured. "What do you think?"

"You look good," she answered honestly. "Great, even. I like what you've done with your hair."

He laughed. It wasn't the manic chuckle she had been expecting. This one was more hearty and controlled. More human. She wasn't fooled. This man before her was far from human, and definitely far from sane.

"Well, I'm glad you're here. I knew you would be able to read my message. My colleague over there had his doubts, but you showed him, didn't you?"

Aria turned her attention back to Dr. Carmichael who she had entirely forgotten was still in the room.

"Did you meet Ms. Dunne?" Undertaker asked, grinning. "Pleasant woman, wouldn't you say? I've had warmer greetings at my shop and everybody there is dead."

A huff of a laugh escaped Aria's lips. "That wouldn't have something to do with you being a mortician, would it?"

"It might just," he muttered. Then the clap of his hands filled the room.

"Well, that's enough of that, wouldn't you say?" Undertaker asked no one in particular. "Now that my darling doctor is here, I can continue with my work."

"Don't you mean our work?" Dr. Carmichael asked, coming out from behind his desk. "This isn't just your project, Undertaker. This is my project as well, and I haven't decided whether I want to take Dr. Sinclair on or not."

"Is that so?" Undertaker's voice was soft, and deceptive. "Tell me, Dr. Carmichael, how many successful procedures have you recorded?"

The director of Stonehart Asylum darted his eyes to the floor.

"Come now, don't be shy," the mortician cooed. "How many successful procedures?"

The silver haired reaper stepped toward Dr. Carmichael and cupped the back of the man's neck with his hand, scratching the skin with his talon-like nails.

"I asked you a question, Doctor."

"None," the man whispered, sweat starting to gleam at his forehead.

"What was that? I'm afraid I couldn't hear you."

"None," he rasped, shaking.

"Ah."

Undertaker drew his hand away. "That's what I thought. So, you are suggesting, my dear Dr. Carmichael, that we turn away a treasure trove of fresh ideas and insights because your pride won't allow you to accept a new mind into our midst?"

The doctor said nothing.

"Your pride, my good sir, has served as nothing but a hindrance to our plans. With every failed attempt, we have to perform another one. Eventually, we will run out of resources, and even you with your diplomatic smile and charming mannerisms won't be able to cover up what we've done when that happens. Stonehart Asylum will be ransacked, I will disappear, and you, my dear friend and colleague, will be out of a job, so I tell you once more, Dr. Sinclair is joining us whether you wish her to or not. Is that understood?"

After a second of defiant silence, Dr. Carmichael roughly nodded his consent.

"Very good. I knew you would come to see reason. I'm terribly sorry I had to get nasty with you, Lawrence, but needs must, as they say."

The mortician's smile was back, and he slung his arm over the doctor's shoulders as though they were the best of pals.

Aria found the display both amusing and disconcerting.

"I hate to rain on your strange little parade," she began, "but I haven't the faintest idea what I've been recruited for."

His attention back on Aria, the Undertaker's eyes gleamed with an unhealthy light.

Sliding his arm from the doctor's person like it was a snake, he jumped over to Aria and took both of her hands in his.

"Let me show you."

His voice was husky, and she shuddered to see the return of that manic energy she knew so well.

Nodding away her unease, she looked up at him and stated, "Lead the way."

* * *

And, finally, the Undertaker has made his appearance! It only took me six chapters, but who doesn't love prolonging the moment of reveal? I cannot thank you lovely readers enough for the marvelous reviews. They're all very encouraging and never fail to brighten my day.

One reader asked if Aria and Lynn's last name was a reference to _Demian_. Sadly, I was not that thoughtful when picking out the name, and the similarity is merely a coincidence. This query did, however, give me something to Google, and the book itself sounds very interesting.

As usual, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I thank you all for putting up with my sporadic updates. Until next time!


	7. Chapter 7

He dragged her behind him as he ran through corridors and down stairs, babbling all the way.

"You recall, do you not, Aria, the times we would perform autopsies together at my shop? You may then also recall the talks we had and how fanciful they were. We would talk about how fantastic it would be if that greatest of all illnesses could be conquered: death. You remember don't you?"

She nodded in response, but she doubted he was actually expecting a reply.

"We talked and speculated on how marvelous it would be if death could be overcome by that great organ that encapsulates the whole of life: the brain."

She had an idea where he was going with this, and she did not like it.

"So, I thought to myself, why waste my life away in this funeral parlor prettying up the dead when I could be resurrecting them? If Christ could do it, why not me? Ha! There's a lark! Christ Undertaker! Ha!"

His bark of laughter intensified the crazed nature of his ramblings.

"And what better place to work on the brain than a hospital that works on the mind? And I have so many different kinds of brains to work with, some less crazy than others."

Here he threw her a wink whose implications were all too clear.

"But with any great discovery comes experimentation, and I need the time and the resources to continue my research until I find the answer. That's where you come in, darling."

He spun on her so fast she nearly tumbled down the stairs they were descending. Darting his hand out, he caught her arm and pulled her close. Too close.

Her eyes locked with his green ones and he smiled at her. He was so insane. So beautifully insane.

"I need your help, my dear. That bungler Carmichael doesn't have the vision. I need him for his building and his patients, but his mind isn't like ours. It can see the advance, it knows it's there, but it can't comprehend it. You can understand the significance of my work, can't you, Aria? The genius of it? The enlightenment? You see why it is important and how it must be done, so you can help me. You can get me out of the mire I have sunken into and put an end to this stagnation. With your help, I can make this work. Together, we can solve the greatest mystery that man has ever known. The mystery of death itself!"

He was leering at her now.

"And I know how much you love mysteries."

There weren't very many instances in her past that had rendered Aria Sinclair speechless, but that's what she was at that moment: disgusted and mystified beyond words.

"Nothing to say, my dove? Very well. I'm sure your eloquence will come back to you once you have seen the work I have accomplished. Down the stairs, come now."

Turning around, he began dragging her down the spiraling staircase once more. They had long gone past the ground floor, that much she was certain of, and the darkness became more and more dense with every step they took. Eventually torches replaced lamps hanging from the walls, giving the area a medieval atmosphere. The air was becoming mustier, filling her lungs with dank breath. Whatever workshop Undertaker had set up down here was in horrendous conditions. This was no place for experimentation of any sort.

Finally, after descending for what seemed like ages, her feet hit a solid platform, decidedly not one of the hundred crumbling steps they had just traversed. Indeed, the stairs stopped, leaving her to conclude that they must be in the basement, or at least the lowest level of Stonehart. Looking down, she saw the floor was made up of rough, uneven stones resembling the ones the building was made from. Loose dirt lay between the edges of the stones. Exactly how far below ground were they?

Focusing her eyes ahead, she saw they were in an expansive room that stretched into looming darkness. Running down the room on each side were sturdy wooden doors whose arch formation strengthened the medieval theme. These doors had iron rings as handles. Apt, she thought, and best kept hidden from the families that sent their relatives here.

After allowing her to scope out the place, Undertaker ushered her farther down the room and to a door on her right. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a set of keys and commenced unlocking the entrance to his hellish laboratory. Aria couldn't help but recall a similar display that took place only yesterday when William had retrieved his office key from his jacket pocket. The sight that awaited her here, however, was going to be much different from William's cleanly workspace. This would be far, far worse.

Thank God he would be coming, Aria thought, envisioning William's eyes, so like Undertaker's yet so very different. She would need his strength and support before this horrific episode saw its conclusion.

"Ready, dearie?" Undertaker's voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Very," Aria lied, managing to sound interested and completely at ease.

The man chuckled. "Good, for I have much to show you."

As he said this, he pushed the door open and escorted her inside as though they were entering a ball room rather than a dank laboratory in the basement of a madhouse.

"Behold my work," he pronounced, flipping a switch on the wall at his left.

The room burst into spontaneous light. Having seen the conditions of the basement as a whole, Aria had thought that this room would also be lighted by fire. She had been wrong. Wires ran from the switch at Undertaker's hand, up the wall and across the ceiling, connecting a multitude of electric lights. It was as bright as day.

Sadly, this excess of illumination allowed her to view unimpeded the real horror of the room, and when she did, it took all her power to suppress the gasp that threatened to leave her lips. There, along the walls of the chamber hung a multitude of corpses, all in various stages of preservation. Some looked as though they could still be alive, others as though they'd be better off six feet under. The centerpiece of the room was a metal operation table, wiped clean for the moment, but the angry brown stains around the drain in the floor spoke of countless procedures. A table beside this held the equipment necessary for such work, including instruments whose necessity was not so marked.

A seemingly insignificant detail that caught her eye was the leather straps attached to the operation table. Here the cleaning was a little trickier, and there was still blood spotted on the metal buckles and stained into the straps themselves. Indeed, the corpse that was currently resting in her morgue had been here once upon a time. There was no telling what Godless tortures he had been guinea pig to.

"What do you think?" came Undertaker's voice, eager to hear her assessment.

She didn't hesitate in her response. "You've been industrious," she answered, "to have operated on so many bodies."

He smiled down at her. "Indeed I have." Slamming the door shut behind them, he jumped into the room, beckoning her to follow. "You see," he explained, "when patients die, a lot are never claimed. What to do with the bodies then? They are brought down here to me, where I carry out my experiments. You see these?" he asked, picking up a pair of thin, metal rods.

"Yes," Aria replied, following him but keeping a modest distance.

"They're electricity conductors that, when placed in the brain, send electrical currents throughout the organ. I have used them on many of my patients," he stated, waving a hand at the nameless bastards lining the walls, "with varying ranges of success. I need a more efficient way of stimulating the brain, one that is continuous and less cumbersome. If I ever happen to succeed at producing intelligent life, then I'll need something less conspicuous than metal rods sticking out of their noggins when I let them back out into the world."

He said this as though it were the most common sense thing in the world. Sadly, Aria couldn't disagree with him. Humans with antennas would cause quite a commotion.

"Then of course there is the added bonus that naturally comes with working in a madhouse," he commented, twirling the metal rods between his fingers so that they caught and reflected the cold light of the room.

"Oh?" Aria asked, arching an eyebrow. "And what would that be, other than the charming gothic atmosphere?"

Undertaker giggled with delight much like that of a child with a new toy.

"Why, my dear, having patients that die bonkers and resurrecting them sane."

)*(

William sat stoically as the woman across from him looked over his credentials. He was sure she would find them flawless. He had forged them, after all.

"It says here you worked at Bethlem Royal Hospital," Ms. Dunne remarked, looking over his resume. "Why did you feel compelled to leave their employment?"

"I'm looking for a quieter life," William supplied. "London is a marvelous city, but it is expensive to live in. Here, living is much cheaper, and I get the added bonus of fresh air and new surroundings."

He hoped his lie would convince the frowning woman of his story. It would be a shame if he were to be refused the job, forcing him to sneak around the institution like a crafty busybody. His pride did not need that, thank you very much.

Ms. Dunne huffed, bringing his attention back to the interview.

"It seems you have all the necessary qualifications," she muttered, more to herself than to him. "When could you start working for us?"

"As soon as you deem appropriate, ma'am," he answered, smiling congenially.

After his infiltration of the Noah's Ark Circus some time ago, he had learned to hone his infiltration skills. As much as he had hated to admit it at the time, the young Earl Phantomhive had been right about how conspicuous he had been acting when undercover. This mission couldn't risk being jeopardized due to his incompetence.

"We could have you start immediately, if you're up for it," the stern woman stated, straightening his paperwork and sliding it back into its folder.

"That would be ideal," he returned, heaving a mental sigh of relief. Step one was complete.

"Good. I shall show you to your room, then give you a tour of the rest of the facility. Do follow me."

William did as he was bid and trailed after the matron. They exited a room on the ground floor and went up a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. Apparently the first storey consisted of the doctors' offices at the front of the building and the staff's living quarters at the back. Spears couldn't help but note that all of the hallways looked the same, making the hospital feel like a giant maze. He also couldn't fail to notice how quiet the establishment was. When eventually they reached the dormitories, he was beginning to wonder if anybody else worked here at all.

Evidently some of the rooms were occupied, as they passed by a good number of them before Ms. Dunne finally stopped at one she found suitable.

"This is where you'll be staying so long as you work with us," she spoke, shattering the eerie silence of the asylum.

William nodded but kept his words to himself.

"Due to the extensive number of workers required to run an institution of this magnitude and the lack of available living quarters, you will be sharing a suite."

"That's fine," he sighed, almost failing to keep the frustration from his voice. Being stuck with infiltration duty at an isolated madhouse was bad enough, but now he had to share a room? Couldn't he have one investigation where he was granted a place of his own?

"Here is your key," Ms. Dunne continued, handing him the metal trinket which was looped through a brown cord. He took it. "Keep track of it. You won't be getting another one."

"Of course," he stated, stepping toward the door to unlock and reveal his new home. He was not feeling optimistic.

Much to his surprise, however, upon reaching for the handle, he discovered that the door was already unlocked. Assuming that his roommate must be in, he swallowed his groan of disappointment and swung the door open. And there, standing by one of the beds at the far end of the room, was the worst thing that could have happened to him.

This time there was no hiding his discontentment with life.

"You..." he muttered to himself, trying to mask his familiarity with his roommate from the matron at his back.

"Dear me," the man inside the room started, standing up from his trunk and turning to peer at the two intruders. "What have we here?"

In his defense, he didn't sound too pleased with the situation either.

Shouldering her way into the room, Ms. Dunne came to stand between the two employees.

"Ah, Marlowe," the matron addressed the occupant of the room. "This is Edward Carton, a new hire and your roommate. Mr. Carton, this is Christopher Marlowe. I was going to give Mr. Carton a tour of the building, but seeing as you're handy, Mr. Marlowe, would you care to do so? I know you were only hired two days ago, but you know all of the essential places."

The raven haired man bowed and acquiesced.

Ms. Dunne nodded. "Good. I'll leave you to it then. Mr. Carton," she said in farewell before leaving the room and going back down the hall.

When her footsteps receded to where William couldn't even hear them, he shut the door and faced his new roommate.

"Well, this is unfortunate," the reaper stated, frowning.

"Indeed," the demon agreed. "Twice roommates. Perhaps the universe is attempting to force friendship upon us."

"I could never be friends with such a loathsome creature," Spears reminded him, moving toward his bed. "Still, I suppose it's best that my roommate is someone who knows of my reaper nature. It will save me from having to explain myself to some poor halfwit."

Sebastian Michaelis smirked. "I never thought I'd hear such words from you, Mr. Spears. Or should I say, Mr. Carton. Fond of Dickens, perchance?"

"Perhaps," the reaper responded, laying a suitcase on his marvelously solid mattress. It would be like sleeping on a stone slab. "And you, Christopher Marlowe. Not very subtle, are we?"

The demon chuckled. "I like to have a bit of fun now and then. Besides, my master gave me leave to choose my own nom de guerre."

"Ah yes, the young Phantomhive. Has the Queen called his attention to this asylum?"

Sebastian grinned devilishly. "You wish to engage in conversation with such a loathsome creature, Mr. Carton?"

William bristled. "I am attempting to be civil, actually, and glean information, if possible. Seeing that we are both here, it would seem that something is afoot, wouldn't you agree?"

"Indeed I would, Mr. Spears, and since my master has not forbidden me from speaking upon the matters which bring me here, I may even be willing to exchange my information for yours. How does that sound?"

William thought for a moment. As far as he could tell, there was no harm in sharing his reason for being at Stonehart Asylum. Besides, Michaelis was bound to find out anyway, since they would be sharing such close quarters for the foreseeable future.

With a sigh, William yielded to logic.

"Very well. I would not be averse to exchanging stories with you. However, I must ask that you go first. Demons have a tendency to lie, after all."

"Not I, Mr. Carton. I spin only tales of truth."

William's expression remained impassive. "Humor me, Marlowe," he stated, flipping open his suitcase, waiting for the devil's explanation.

Sebastian sighed. "Indeed, there isn't much to tell. My young master received a correspondence from Her Majesty two days ago which spoke of strange goings-on at this asylum that had some of the employees on edge. Knowing the popular opinion of most mental institutions, she asked my young master to investigate and ensure that all was well and orthodox. Upon reviewing the general information regarding Stonehart, my master thought it best to send me in his stead. A lunatic asylum is no place for a child, after all."

"Quite," William agreed as he sorted out his clothes.

"I am to send regular reports of my findings in order to keep him abreast," Sebastian went on. "He will direct the investigation from the comfort of his study."

William sensed a tone of mockery in the demon's voice, but didn't care enough to comment on it.

"Your turn," Michaelis chimed, sitting down on his equally uncomfortable mattress as though he were a child audience to a bedtime story.

Without turning around, William kept his part of the bargain.

"As I'm sure you're aware, the Grim Reaper Dispatch Association has been hunting a certain Undertaker of your acquaintance."

Sebastian's eyes widened fractionally, but he said nothing.

"One of my employees has a relative who was a medical colleague of the Undertaker's before his disappearance. This relative has recently been contacted by the fugitive by way of a rather morbid message which led us to this asylum. That relative left yesterday to come here and investigate the origin of said message, and was to send for me as backup if the Undertaker was present on the premises."

"And here you are," Sebastian concluded, letting the meaning sink in.

"Yes. Here I am."

The conversation ended after this revelation, leaving both parties to their own musings. Sebastian seemed to be pondering something, and William was doing a first rate job of not asking him about it when the man vocalized his question regardless.

"Who is this relative of your employee?"

"That is not your concern," the reaper responded, seemingly unperturbed by the demon's sudden curiosity.

"The reason I ask is that if this relative reported to you about Undertaker, then they would have to know about reapers, correct?"

"My, someone is perceptive today."

William sounded patronizing, which irritated Sebastian in a way he found unpleasant.

"And if they know of grim reapers," he went on despite William's reluctance, or maybe because of it, "then that would mean that they know their relative is a grim reaper. I must say, Mr. Spears, that this seems like a highly bizarre situation. However do you get yourself into these messes?"

William halted his unpacking and released a weary sigh. "Sometimes I ask that myself," he admitted, sounding overworked and underpaid.

Sebastian knew the feeling.

"You say this human relative of your reaper employee is undercover as well?" the demon continued.

"Yes," William admitted, apparently coming to the conclusion that Sebastian was not going to shut up.

"Am I going to meet this man?" Sebastian asked, lying back on his bed in an attitude of leisure.

"Most probably," William affirmed. "And he is a she, if you must know. I'm afraid she would be offended if addressed otherwise."

The demon sat up in surprise. "A woman? Do you mean to tell me there is a female medical practitioner undercover for grim reapers inside of this insane asylum?"

William smirked at the devil's uncharacteristic bafflement. It was quite entertaining. "Yes, I do mean to tell you that," William confirmed. "And since your pestering doesn't sound as though it's going to cease, I'll even tell you her name. I've heard she is an acquaintance of yours."

Sebastian looked puzzled. "Of mine? I'm afraid I have no human acquaintances with reaper relatives."

"Perhaps my sources were wrong, then," William remarked. "In that case, her name will meaning nothing to you."

Sebastian demurred. "Please, do tell me regardless. You see, I am an employee here, and it would help me immensely to know all of the doctors on the grounds. As one worker to another, I beg you."

The demon smirked up at him expectantly. William relented.

"Her name is Dr. Aria Sinclair."

Sebastian stood up from the bed.

"I beg your pardon?" the demon stated, staring intently at the back of the reaper's head.

"Ah, so you do know her," William muttered, finally turning to face his roommate.

"Yes, I am well acquainted with the lady in question," Sebastian informed him. "She is a good friend of mine."

William scoffed. "I wasn't aware demon's had friends."

"I didn't have any at all until just recently," Sebastian admitted. "Being an Earl's butler has its perks."

The reaper closed his suitcase with a deafening thud.

"Are you and the lady close?" he asked.

He would give anything to wipe that smug smirk from he demon's face.

"Yes," the butler replied. "Quite. Why do you ask?"

William frowned. "I do not want your friendship getting in the way of our investigation. That is all."

"Ah, but the fact that you say "that is all" suggests that it is not, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Carton?" The demon stepped forward. "Perhaps my alias should have been Darnay. That would have made this situation all the more amusing."

"You have nothing at all in common with that character, I'm afraid," William criticized, slightly angered that the demon should be making light of their situation. "I find your amusement both irresponsible and disgusting."

Sebastian shrugged. "Find my amusement however you will, Mr. Carton, I do not mind in the slightest. Should Dr. Sinclair come to any harm, I assure you that you won't have to worry about that particular vice."

William was slightly taken aback to hear such words from a demon's mouth.

"You care for her?" he asked incredulously.

It was the butler's turn to scoff. "I did tell you that we were close, did I not? Does your memory frequently fail you, Mr. Spears?"

William's expression was ice. "She shall not come to harm. I am here to ensure it."

"That is good to hear," Sebastian returned. "However, I have fought Undertaker before, and he is not to be taken lightly. Two of your employees and myself engaged him in battle upon the Campania and he escaped unscathed. I think it would be best if we work together, at least this once. Our interests run the same course in this instance."

Though repulsed at the though of working with a demon, William had to admit it was the best course of action. Both he and Sebastian were there for the same reason, and what the butler had said made sense. Undertaker was a force to be reckoned with, and facing him alone would be unwise in the extreme.

Balling up his revulsion and burying it deep, deep, _deep_ within himself, William nodded his assent.

"Very well," he said, "upon two conditions."

"Name them," the demon commanded.

"Firstly," William began, "when this is over you allow the reapers to take Undertaker into custody without a squabble. I don't know if your master wishes to bring him in himself, but no human prison could possibly hope to hold him. He would be better off with us reapers."

"Agreed," Sebastian consented. "My master never ordered me to bring Undertaker to justice, simply to report to him and put an end to the questionable practices at this asylum. Name your second condition."

"That you do not do anything careless that would put our capture of Undertaker and Dr. Sinclair's safety in jeopardy. The Undertaker is nothing if not cautious and wily. If he caught sight of you in some way, he would leave in a moment and who knows when we'd ever find him again. Also, I would hate to be responsible for any misfortune that befell Aria."

"Aria?" the demon caught, arching an eyebrow. "So familiar and so soon? My, my, Mr. Spears, perhaps you are the force to be reckoned with."

"Quit your blathering, beast. Do you agree to the terms or not?"

"I do," Sebastian confirmed. "Shall we shake on it?"

The reaper hesitated, but decided there was no harm in it. Reaching his hand out to the demon, Sebastian took it in a firm grip, sealing their pact.

"How does it feel to make your first deal with a devil?" Michaelis purred, grinning.

Releasing the fiend's hand, William scowled. "Do shut up," he shot back, turning once more to his suitcase.

Sebastian chuckled. "Whatever you say, Mr. Carton."

* * *

For those who don't know, both aliases chosen by Sebastian and William are references. Christopher Marlowe was the author of _The Tragical History of the Life and Death of Dr. Faustus_ , alternately referred to as simply _Dr. Faustus,_ a play published in text-form in 1604. If the title isn't spoiler enough, it is the story of the fictionalized version of an actual historical Dr. Faustus, and how he made a deal with the demon Mephistopheles.

William's alias is pulled from Charles Dickens's _A Tale of Two Cities_. Sydney Carton, one of the major characters in the novel, is in love with Lucie Manette. the wife of Charles Darnay (and now Sebastian's jab makes sense). I won't ruin the book for anybody who intends to read it, but basically it is set during the French Revolution, and Darnay is French (uh-oh). Darnay is portrayed as very kind and honorable, while Carton is rather unambitious and lazy, and he even finds himself pretty worthless. However, his actions at the end of the novel show his good heart and, for some people, raise him above the goodness of Darnay.

I would apologize for how long it took me to update, but I'm starting to sound like a broken record. Here is a long overdue chapter that I hope you all enjoyed!


	8. Chapter 8

And another chapter up! Now that finals are over (thank the Lord above), I hope to update a little more regularly. The story hasn't been forgotten, and I have many more chapters in store, so stay tuned!

* * *

He was barely succeeding in containing his anger as he filled the hypodermic syringe. That little twit. She wasn't needed here. How could Undertaker not see that? They didn't need help from the outside; he could provide everything they required for their experiments. He would be the one to solve their minor technical problem, and he would ensure that their supplies did not run dry.

Testing that there was no air in the syringe, the doctor grinned maliciously at the man cowering before him.

"This will only take a moment, Mr. Fairfax," he tried to say in a comforting voice, but his intent showed itself plainly in his eyes. Dr. Carmichael had never been one for subtlety.

Mr. Fairfax thrashed weakly in his restraints, unable to spew the venomous protests that were bottled in his throat. Ever since he had been placed here some months ago, his delirium had only grown more acute, and whatever medicine this so called doctor had been giving him was most likely the cause of his agitation.

However, the look the man was sending his way was not the same as on previous visits. He peered at him now not only with sadistic amusement, but with grim satisfaction and a shade of triumph. Fairfax did not like what this entailed.

"Now," the doctor called softly, "just keep your arm steady, and we shall be done in no time."

The patient was not compliant.

Dr. Carmichael sighed.

"Come, Mr. Fairfax, we have done this many times. You needn't be so difficult."

The prostrate man made to hurl an insult at the white-coat, but it only came out as a garbled moan. Since the first day he was abandoned at this dump, he had been suffering from the usual mild hallucinations, volatile temperament and paranoia. From then on, his condition had only deteriorated. Kept in his cell day in and day out, refused companionship, and sustained on that dreadful medicine, his life had become a living hell. Now it seemed that was all about to come to an end.

Perhaps... perhaps it was all for the best. His family obviously didn't want to deal with him, nor did the doctors who were paid to do so. Maybe all of his pain, embarrassment and suffering would finally release their hold on him, conceding to the arms of death.

Dr. Carmichael smiled once more.

"Ready now, Mr. Fairfax?"

This time the restrained man did not put up a fight.

"Good," the doctor muttered. "Very good."

Placing a steadying hand on the man's forearm as though suspicious of his cooperation, Dr. Carmichael found the vein and pricked it with the syringe, pressing the plunger home. Mr. Fairfax's eyes visibly glazed over, losing any focus they once had. With the ghost of a sigh, his head lulled to the side, his body relaxing all of the muscles it had been holding taut in resistance.

With an expression of contentment, Dr. Carmichael placed the syringe on the silver trolley behind him, turning back to the door. Now to get the body to Undertaker.

)*(

"Whatever is the matter, Elle?" Grell inquired, sidling up next to his girlfriend.

Lynn Sinclair let out a sigh and lifted her chin from the palm it had been resting in.

"I'm worried, obviously," she snapped, giving the red reaper a look that suggested she thought his question stupid.

Grell frowned. "No need to get snippy with me, little miss," he returned, crossing his arms. "I just don't like to see you sad. Forgive me for trying to comfort you."

Another sigh escaped Lynn's lips. "Did you expect me to be okay with this arrangement?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I hardly like the thought of my sister being locked in an asylum with its craziest occupant. He's insane. Who knows what he'll do? He may decide to kill her next and make her one of his bizarre dolls."

The female reaper's face was drained of color at this thought.

Her boyfriend noticed the change in her pallor.

"Come now, Elle. Everything is going to be fine! William is there, and he won't let anything happen to your dear sister. Besides, hasn't she gone undercover like this before? Of course she's in a precarious situation, but the chances of the old loon actually harming her are slim. Weren't they friends, or something?"

Here he tilted his head in thought, placing a gloved finger on his chin as he pondered his last statement.

"Yes, yes," Lynn replied irritatedly, batting his words away as though they were pesky flies. "But the man is unpredictable. Granted, he seems to be acting on an intelligently executed plan, but that doesn't mean Aria is safe."

Grell shrugged. "In the end, who is, Elle? We've all been in dangerous spots in our lives, but when has worrying ever made anything better? I firmly believe Aria is going to be just fine, and that you shouldn't waste time worrying your precious little head off over it."

Lynn gave Grell a look of profound gratitude and laid said head on his shoulder.

"I love you, you know that?" she muttered so that only he could hear.

Grell smiled, warmth flooding his chest. "I love you too, Elle. Now, why don't we finish up our paperwork and go out tonight, just to get our minds of things? The theatre sound agreeable to you?"

Lynn nodded. "More than agreeable."

"And we'll both have to wear red, of course," he continued, offering her his hand to help her out of her chair.

"Of course," she agreed. "Though one of these days we are going to wear a different color. You can't always monopolize my wardrobe."

Grell looked at her aghast. "Dr. Sinclair, if you think I am going to wear anything but the most exquisite shade of red, then you are sorrowfully mistaken."

Lynn smiled. "Just a suggestion. Green might look good on you," she prodded, smiling at her mischief.

Grell looked as though he were going to be sick.

"I've killed people for suggesting less, you know," he pointed out, leading her back to their shared office area.

"Please, Sutcliff," she responded, "we both know you like me far too much to even contemplate such a thing."

With a nod of admitted agreement, Grell escorted Lynn back to her desk, all the while eagerly anticipating their upcoming date.

)*(

Aria had not slept well that night. Though typically bad, her dreams had been abnormally unpleasant, leaving her feeling drained and irritable. Corpses danced around the perimeter of her vision, and she splashed water in her face to chase away the demons. She had seen many things in her life. Working undercover was not new to her, nor was death (she was a pathologist, after all), but what Undertaker had shown her last night had been nothing less than a nightmare brought to life.

Working in silence, she prepared herself for the day, pausing often in front of the solitary window in the bedroom of her new living quarters. The land outside was just as bleak as it had been the day before, the landscape nearly blending into the gray tones of her room. A sigh escaped her lips as she saw the beginnings of a wispy fog creeping over the ground. In a matter of hours, the scene would be totally engulfed by that stray cloud, making the asylum look and feel even more lonely than it already did.

Taking it upon herself to bring color to the wretched place, Aria chose a lilac dress with white lace that buttoned up the column of her slender neck. She didn't know why there seemed to be a strike on color, but she was sure the patients (if she saw any) would appreciate the hint of life.

After putting her hair up and placing her spectacles on the bridge of her nose, the doctor left her suite of rooms. She didn't know what she was to do, really, as last night had only consisted of a tour of Undertaker's laboratory and a deranged explanation of the research that took place therein. Dr. Carmichael clearly didn't welcome her presence, and she wasn't sure where Undertaker would be this early in the morning except for the laboratory, and she didn't particularly wish to venture down there just yet.

Deciding that she was too restless to stay in her rooms and too uneasy to find some form of breakfast, she gave a shrug and started down the corridor, intent on exploring. She was sure there were things that she had not seen; the place was immense, after all. That, and she had yet to find William, making her feel even more on edge. Playing detective was great and all, but going up against forces she had previously thought fictitious and had relatively little knowledge of was not her idea of a good time. Locating William and forming a plan of action would go a long way to calming her nerves.

With that in mind, she continued her trek down the hallway.

Her room was on the second floor, and from what she had collected yesterday, the doctors' offices were on the first floor while the reception room, kitchen and other mundane locations were on the ground floor. If William had gotten in as an aide as was his plan, then his room would probably be on either the ground or first floor. Finally reaching the stairs, Aria made her way down to the first storey, surprised by how quiet the establishment was even at this time in the morning.

The first floor didn't offer much in the way of locating her partner in crime. Though she found what seemed to be the living quarters for the lesser employees of Stonehart, nobody was milling around and all the doors were locked. There was absolutely no way of finding out which room William had been assigned to, and if there were, she highly doubted he would be inside. Being an aide, he had undoubtedly arisen earlier than she, and had probably already started on the day's tasks. Giving a small huff, she found the stairs once more and continued on to the ground floor.

Entering the front room, she saw nobody except the demure young woman behind the front counter. Coming to the conclusion that she had no idea where she was going, Aria decided to ask for directions. The heels of her shoes clicked on the hardwood floor, signaling the young woman to her approach. Evidently not used to the sound of another human being walking with purpose, the young woman's head shot up, eyes looking widely at Aria like she had been scared out of her wits, which was probably true.

Dr. Sinclair smiled warmly, hoping to calm the young lady down. It seemed to work marginally, as her shoulders relaxed and her eyes took on a less terrified expression. When Aria finally reached her, the lady seemed almost settled down, though some tension still remained. The doctor couldn't blame her; this place would make anyone jumpy.

"Hello there," Aria greeted, still smiling. "I was just wondering where everybody is. I've been walking around and have yet to see a single person. Dr. Aria Sinclair, by the by."

She held out her hand for a shake. When the young lady finally realized what was expected of her, she took the doctor's hand in her weak grip.

"Gertrude Davenport, ma'am," the woman returned, dropping her arm back to her side.

"Lovely to meet you, Miss Davenport. Tell me, do you know where everybody is? It's a bit quiet in here."

Gertrude's eyes shifted back to the carpet. "It's always quite, Doctor."

"Ah, I see," Aria returned, taking advantage of the moment of inattention to look over this shy girl.

She was a slight thing, very pale with red hair. A tight bun held the fiery locks out of her face, showing the young lady's rather flattering bone structure. Her eyes seemed to be a light gray, her dress but a shade darker. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, and she seemed to wring them when she was nervous. Whether this tick was noticed by the perpetrator Aria did not know. The hands themselves were clean, though the nails were unevenly cut. Obviously Miss Davenport was not in the habit of manicuring them. Still, there were no ink stains and no callouses, which meant no manual labor and hardly any clerical. That confirmed Aria's assessment that this place was rarely visit, and equally rarely left.

Seeing as Gertrude was unlikely to elaborate upon her comment, Aria prodded further.

"Always quiet? Are there not many employees, then?"

Gertrude looked back up at her slowly, as though wary of saying anything more.

"I don't know all of the employees, Doctor, but most of them will be going about their business, I'm sure. You may be able to find somebody in the kitchen if it's food you're looking for."

The young lady broke eye contact once more, leaving Aria vaguely suspicious of her reticence.

"Thank you, Miss Davenport. Could you possibly point me in the direction of the kitchen? I just arrived yesterday and have yet to learn my way around."

Gertrude pointed her dainty finger to a hallway to the right of the central staircase.

"Should be just down there, ma'am. All the way in the back."

"Ah, yes. Thank you again. I shall see you around, Miss Davenport."

"Doctor," Gertrude acknowledged vacantly, falling back into her thoughts.

Well, Aria thought. That was more than a little odd.

Nevertheless, she had been given directions, so it seemed rude not to follow them, if only to get a grasp of the building's layout.

With this new destination in mind, Dr. Sinclair strode down the far corridor, letting her eyes wander around as she did so. The decorations on the wall lessened the farther back she ventured, though there hadn't been much in the way of ornamentation to begin with. The stones that made up the walls got a little rougher the more she neared the servant's domain. This was a place the more prestigious doctors wouldn't travel if they had a choice. They belonged in their offices, surrounded by files and patient reports, not down in the scullery with the less educated lot. She had no fear of running into Dr. Carmichael down here, or any other white coat that happened to work in the establishment.

She knew she was nearing the kitchen when the smell of homemade biscuits and bacon hit her. Suddenly her stomach didn't think breakfast was such a bad idea. As she went on, voices were apparent too. A jovial female voice could be heard intermittently singing and speaking to whomever else was in the room. A few male voices were apparent as well, these deeper and less enthusiastic than the first.

Curious, she slowed her stride as she came upon the door that had to lead to the kitchen, hoping to catch some snippets of conversation.

"Oh, you are a dear, you are, Mr. Marlowe! A real charmer!" a lady sang out, laughing as she spoke.

This was the voice Aria had heard before.

"You are too kind, Mrs. Holly. Truly, it is you who makes the day brighter." This male voice was smooth as silk, and one Aria couldn't help but recognize.

"What the devil?" she muttered under her breath. What was he doing here?

"There you go again!" Mrs. Holly returned, laughing heartily. "You'd best rein him in, Mr. Carton, or he'll get the both of you in trouble."

"I shall do my utmost," a second male said.

Aria recognized this one too.

Oh dear God.

Suddenly glad she allowed herself the time to figure out who was in the room before she entered and blew their cover, Aria stepped though the doorway, knocking on the frame to alert everybody to her presence.

Three pairs of eyes turned to her, and she greeted them all with a smile as though she were meeting everyone for the first time.

"Hello, I do hope I'm not interrupting anything," Aria began, clasping her hands behind her back like an intruding child in a display of innocence. "Miss Davenport pointed me in this direction. She said there may be a chance of snagging some breakfast. My name is Aria Sinclair, a colleague of Dr. Carmichael's."

"You're a doctor?" an older woman, presumably Mrs. Holly, asked, blinking a few times.

"Indeed," Aria confirmed, smiling. "I arrived from London just last night. I'm terribly sorry to impose..."

Her apology was cut short when the middle aged woman's face lit up, a smile reaching from ear to ear.

"Oh, don't you fret, dear. We've plenty of food left; you can just help yourself." She went to work setting deliciously flaky biscuits and crispy strips of bacon on a plate. "Could you get her a cup of - what do you take, dear? Coffee? - a cup of coffee, Mr. Marlowe?"

"Of course," Sebastian complied smoothly, going to fetch a mug.

Aria could feel her stomach growl. She had skipped dinner last night, as she couldn't manage to get anything down after what she had witnessed, and now her hunger was rearing its ugly head.

"Thank you," she muttered gratefully, taking the proffered plate.

"No problem, dear," Mrs. Holly cooed, happy that someone was so appreciative of her food.

"Your coffee, Doctor," Sebastian cut in, handing her a steaming cup.

"My thanks," she returned, sipping the warm beverage. She felt instantly better. Being in a group of people who were not completely insane did that to a person.

"So, what brings a pretty young thing like you out here from London? Surely it wasn't the local scenery," Mrs. Holly inquired, interest piqued by the lady physician.

"I've developed an interest in the psychiatric practice, and thought it would do to see how different hospitals work. This was my first stop."

"Well, you picked a bleak one, you did. Aren't there mental hospitals in London?"

"I was hoping this one would be less hectic than the city ones. Turns out I was right, very right. Where is everybody?"

Mrs. Holly shrugged, suddenly frowning. "Who knows? This place used to be bustling with activity, until Dr. Macintosh left, that is. Then Dr. Carmichael became director, and things have been getting progressively worse. At first, I thought it was just because he was young, and we just had to wait until he got a head for his new job, but then people started leaving and he became haughty and snappish. Runs hot and cold, that one! Holes himself up in his office for hours on end, as though he don't have any patients to see. We're understaffed as it is, and now we've that horrid Ms. Dunne - shame on me for saying - who scares off almost every hopeful employee. I'm surprised she let Mr. Carton here through her sifter, cold as she is."

"It was an interesting interview, to be sure," William - or Mr. Carton, evidently - commented. "Though, she did say that this place had a large staff, which clearly conflicts with the truth."

Mrs. Holly gave an indignant huff. "She would say that. I'm sure there is plenty of space to give you both a single room, but she won't budge on it. Don't ask me why. I'm just glad I'm not forced to live here like you gentlemen. I don't know how you put up with it."

"We've only been here for a few days, Mrs. Holly," Sebastian reminded, smiling sweetly. "You are the true veteran here."

Mrs. Holly flushed. "Oh, I wouldn't say that. I just make the food. Speaking of which, how's yours, dear?"

Aria, who had taken advantage of the length of Mrs. Holly's story to eat half of her plate, looked up like a guilty child and smiled. "It's quite good, thank you," she replied, nearly dying of embarrassment. She swore she could feel Sebastian's laughing eyes glancing her way, the bastard.

"Good, good," the lady chatted, turning back to the countertop and picking up the knife that had been abandoned thereon. "When you're done just set the dishes in the basin over there."

"Will do," Aria returned, finishing the last of her food. Once she had dispensed of her plate and mug, she turned to her cohorts. "Would you gentlemen mind showing me around the asylum? I'm afraid I didn't have much time to look around yesterday and will find myself hopelessly lost without a tour."

Sebastian was the first to respond. "Certainly, Dr. Sinclair," he purred. "I'm sure Mr. Carton and I would be honored to give you a personal tour, would we not, Mr. Carton?"

"Most honored, Mr. Marlowe," William agreed, eyes darting over to meet Aria's.

The intensity of his emerald gaze was startling. With a sudden horror, Aria felt a flush blooming on her cheeks and averted her eyes, letting them wander around the floor and finally to her clasped hands, before she brought them back up to look from one of the men to the other.

Internally humiliated by having acted like a simple school girl for such an insignificant reason, she gave a sigh that sounded true to her role as long suffering doctor and returned to the conversation.

"Marvelous. Thank you, gentlemen. Shall we?"

"Of course," Sebastian nodded, turning on his heel and starting out the door. "Do come this way, Doctor. Good day, Mrs. Holly."

"And to you, Mr. Marlowe!" the jovial woman called after, waving her hand that was still wielding the knife.

Aria followed behind the butler turned asylum aide, William trailing not far behind. When they finally made it to a hallway that was appropriately deserted, Aria was the first to break the silence.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she spoke in hushed tones, directing her question toward Sebastian who was wearing his signature smirk.

"The Master received a missive from the Queen requesting that he look into the goings-on in this asylum. Evidently a number of former employees have been whispering about strange practices within these walls. Her Majesty is concerned. It was decided that I should undertake this investigation myself, reporting back to him at intervals. A child would stand out too much at a place such as this."

Aria nodded in understanding. "Indeed."

She wanted to ask him precisely what he knew: if these strange practices were anything more specific than mere whispers, but caution stilled her tongue. She didn't know how much was wise to divulge. This was reaper business, after all, and from her conversations with her sister, she had discovered that the relationship between demons and the gods of death was strained at best.

Luckily, she was not required to invent a clever lie, as William suddenly intoned, "He knows."

She looked over at her partner in crime with mild surprise. Of all of the reapers who would consider cooperating with a devil, William T. Spears had not been at the top of her list of likely candidates.

"I see," she stated, turning back to her friend in black. "So you have agreed to comply with our investigation?"

"To the extent of not making off with the Undertaker and ensuring your safety, yes," he replied, chin lowering. "I've been thoroughly informed of your involvement, my dear. Mr. Spears has made it abundantly clear that you know exactly what I am."

His eyes seemed to harden at that statement, and his voice dropped to a dangerously low pitch. Aria raised an eyebrow, muscles tensing. She had never had cause to fear her friend, but his body language at the moment warned of nothing but trouble. Behind her, she could feel William shift closer, prepared to jump to her defense, and she was eternally grateful.

"I pray you do not spread this information around," the demon began, gaze boring into her. "I have gone to great lengths to pass myself off as human so as not to inconvenience my master, and it would pain me for that work to have been in vain."

Aria's mouth drew into a hard line. "I shall do my utmost not to inconvenience you, Sebastian," she countered, eyes sharpening. "After all, what are friends for?"

His expression seemed to soften at that, his voice returning to normal. "Forgive me, Aria," he began, stepping closer. "I am simply overprotective of my master. You know I am fond of you and would do you no harm."

"I certainly used to, Sebastian," she said, voice distant. "That was before I knew of your nature. To be quite honest, I don't know what to believe anymore. The entire world has been flipped on its head, and the scary thing is, only my perception of it has changed; it has always been this way, without my realizing it."

Silence returned to the dreary corridor as the weight of her words sank in. Truly, she had been exposed to far too much far too quickly, and had been forced to adapt almost instantaneously. If that wasn't enough, she had then been dragged into a perilous situation that dealt with powers beyond her control. It was enough to make any person go batty.

A slight rustle of clothes caught her attention, and she suddenly felt Sebastian's hand resting on her arm. The feel of it was reassuring, causing her to turn back to the demon butler with less malice than before.

Sebastian gave a quirk of his lips - which could have been interpreted as sympathy or amusement - and leaned over so that he was speaking almost in her ear.

"If you never doubt one thing, let it be when I say I shall never betray you or the friendship you have given me. On this you have my word."

A jolt of shock went through her, and she met his eyes only to find nothing but honest solemnity.

"And a demon's word is his bond," he finished, tightening his hold on her arm.

She wanted to say something profound, something that let him know how much she appreciated his words of comfort and assurance, but the only thing she could manage was a hushed "thank you".

"There is no need to thank me," he responded, removing his hand from her arm.

She tried to gage his attitude, but after his promise his mood seemed a mask of ambivalence. William, on the other hand, had been suspiciously silent the entire time.

Hoping to change the subject and make the mood less awkward, Aria cleared her throat and turned to William.

"Anyway, do I have some news for you."

* * *

Thank you all for reading and keeping up with this story! It means the world to me that you all enjoy it. I may not get around to answering every review, but I appreciate all of them.

Well, chapter eight is in the bag. I'll see you later with chapter nine!


	9. Chapter 9

"The man has lost his head," Sebastian remarked after having heard the story Aria had to tell.

"Then he certainly picked a fitting base of operation," William opined, leaning against the wall, no death scythe in sight.

Aria hadn't yet seen him without the instrument, and she had to admit that the man standing before her looked nothing like the looming figure of death. "Be that as it may," she spoke, "he fully intends to go through with his plans. Indeed, he has made a considerable amount of progress given the limited amount of time he has had to dedicate to such an ambitious project."

"But to what end?" William asked, clearly trying to wrap his head around Undertaker's deranged mentality. "What is he trying to achieve by bringing back the dead?"

"According to what he said on the Campania," Sebastian began, referring to the ill-fated ocean-liner that had been swallowed up by the depths of the Atlantic that April, "he was interested in humans and the possibility of a continuation after the predetermined end."

"That sounds like him," Aria commented, pinching her chin in between her thumb and forefinger in thought. "When he took me into the bowels of this place to show me his laboratory, he told me he was having a "difficulty in design". Evidently, he intends to resurrect the dead by stimulating the brain. A rather far fetched notion in my book, and since the man is a grim reaper, I have a hard time believing that that is all he is doing. It was never properly explained to me how he managed to resurrect the corpses on the Campania, so I don't really know how far he has progressed in his research.

"Furthermore, the corpse that came after me in his parlor didn't have any contraption jutting out of its skull, which leads me to believe that he already has a method of bringing the dead to life without using his electrical device."

"You would be correct on that count," William stated, crossing his arms. "The Undertaker managed to bring the dead to life by manipulating their cinematic records. He added a false continuation of life at the end of each record, which tricked the body into thinking that it was still alive, even with the absence of a soul. In this way, the body still moves in a semblance of a living being, but is truly a husk of a human. With no soul, the corpses, or "bizarre dolls", as he prefers, attack living people in hopes of gaining what they lack. They are terribly dangerous, as they don't feel pain or any type of emotion. The perfect killing machines."

"Indeed," Sebastian agreed, dipping his head at the gravity of the situation. "On the Campania, he mentioned a company being interested in his resurrection work. The Osiris Company, if memory serves. According to him, the voyage was a test in order to see how well his dolls would service as weapons."

Aria's eyes widened in sickened horror. Dear God, this was much worse than she had feared. A man toying with life and death was one thing, a man willing to sell his knowledge to the murderous and power hungry was quite another.

"Sadly, gentlemen, I don't think it stops there," she interjected expression darkening. "Clearly he knows how to resurrect the dead, but his experimentation is not over, which suggests that that was not his only goal. If the cinematic record holds the key to keeping the body moving, then his dolls are only lacking one thing: sentience."

Both William and Sebastian started, looking up at her in shock. Sadly, the clenched setting of their jaws told her that they had half expected this news.

"I believe he is trying to give his dolls awareness. If he is able to allow them to interact with their surroundings, it is only a matter of time before reason and complex thought follows. He is not trying to create simple killing machines. He is trying to conquer death completely by bringing back a person as a whole, not just a shell of their former selves."

The hall grew silent again as each person dwelled on their own private thoughts.

Stonehart Asylum, being a large medical institution, used electric lighting in some parts of the building, and their deserted corridor was one such area. Electric lamps dangled from the ceiling overhead, casting harsh illumination on the stonework. Aria appreciated the advancement and efficiency of electric lighting, but the glow it provided was harsh indeed. Such cold and clinical atmospheres were what they had to look forward to with the loss of the flickering candle flame. Her musings turned morose as she stared down into the darkness of the retreating hallway. What else would the human race lose in the name of advancement?

"You said he was having a "difficulty in design"," William began, intruding upon her moment of brooding. "Does that mean that he is looking for a more efficient way to stimulate the brain?"

"Yes," Aria confirmed. "He wants to make it where the brain is continually being stimulated by a current of electrical energy."

William tapped his chin with his forefinger, looking deep in thought. Gradually, his movements slowed and, eventually, stilled as realization dawned on him.

Aria looked over at him in urgency, seeing that he had stumbled upon something of vital importance.

"William, what is it?"

He looked over at her slowly, and the grim line of his lips put her on edge almost as much as Undertaker's manic cackling.

"Well?" she prompted, becoming impatient.

"I believe he wants to stimulate the brain in order to tap at the memories inside."

"How do you mean?" she inquired, slowly comprehending what he was getting at.

William sighed. "As you know, a grim reaper's duty is to review the cinematic record of a human and, by that, send the soul where it is supposed to go. Therefore, after a reaper has finished a collection, the soul has departed from the human's body, but the completed cinematic record is still there. Along with the record, the brain - which houses all of that human's memories - remains. If the brain can be stimulated, it is possible that the body could remember its former life, and along with past memories, begin collecting new ones as well.

"We are now in the realm of conjecture," the administrator pointed out, "but in order for the brain to start collecting new memories once more, it has to be aware of its surroundings. To do this, the brain would have to be tricked into believing it is still alive."

"But if it takes a fake cinematic record to trick the body into believing it is alive, what would it take to fool the brain?" Sebastian questioned, becoming interested in the conversation.

"I'm not quite sure, as something like this has never been done before," William explained, "but it would make sense that if a fake cinematic record is required to revive the body, then fake memories would be necessary to revive the brain."

"But memories happen in the past," Aria pointed out. "In order for a brain to continue living, wouldn't it have to require something in the present?"

"Or the future," Sebastian muttered ominously. "Mr. Spears, would it be possible for a brain to have false memories of a future?"

The reaper furrowed his brows. "To have memories of a future?" he repeated, clearly unsure of the possibility of such a thing.

"Perhaps," Aria ventured, going slowly, "perhaps they wouldn't quite be memories."

"Explain," William stated, leaning forward in anticipation.

"What if the brain is living in a fantasy land of "what should have been"?"

The men raised their eyebrows.

"Let me try again," she said, searching for a better way of explaining her admittedly vague idea. "When I was a young girl, I had many dreams and ideals of what my future would be like. I wanted to be a doctor, become independent, move out of my small town and live in the big city where life was exciting and always busy. Sometimes, I yearned for that future so strongly that it felt almost real, like I could see it perfectly if I just closed my eyes. Would it be possible, William, for the brain to live off of what it believes should have happened, if those plans are vivid enough?"

William settled back against the wall once more, chin on chest in contemplation. "Actually," he started, "that may just work. If Undertaker can manage to provide continual stimulation to the brain and that person has enough vividly constructed plans for the future, then he may be able to bring forth a shallow veneer of life. If the brain falls for the ploy, then it could begin forming new memories and the body can, in theory, become sentient once more."

Sebastian and Aria glanced at one another before turning back to William.

"If that's the case, that may be why Undertaker decided to continue his work here at Stonehart. Along with the isolated location and unclaimed bodies, he has people who have spent the better part of their lives living in their heads. If he were able to stimulate their brains, then they would more than likely be able to reach some type of awareness."

Aria's revelation brought a sudden instance of clarity to the group. If what she said was true, and it seemed too likely not to be, then Undertaker was working out of an insane asylum specifically for the insanity of its inmates. The implications of this motive were immense.

"This is not good," Sebastian muttered under his breath.

"Tell me about it," William concurred. "I do not get paid enough for this."

Aria gave a huff of a laugh. "Quite frankly, none of us do, but that's out of our purview right now. At present, our priority has to be apprehending Undertaker, and that is not going to be easy. If he does manage to bring a human back to life using the means we just discussed, then it is more than likely that those people will awaken even more insane than they were in the first place. Add to that the fact that they will more than likely be unable to feel pain and you have yourself a dangerous weapon indeed, if that is his intention."

"That is what confuses me, though," William remarked, looking over at the doctor. "Why go to all of this trouble? I know the man is probably just as crazy as his experiments, but that does not explain the purpose behind all of this research. Is he really trying to resurrect the dead simply to see if it is possible? I find that hard to believe."

Aria pinched her chin in thought. "I agree. It seems an awful lot of trouble to go through just to fill one's curiosity. Not only are the reapers after him, but what with the Campania incident, the human authorities would be as well if they knew the truth of the matter. There are deeper waters here, and we are dangerously close to falling into them."

"Then it is a good thing Mr. Spears and I are here to assist you," Sebastian chimed in, giving his signature smirk. "Three heads are better than one, and with our collective talents, we should be able to think of something."

"I do hope so," Aria stated, worry sounding in her voice. "He has asked me here to assist him in his research. If I don't begin helping him make progress, he will find me out soon enough. I am supposed to go back down to his laboratory tonight, and I don't know what I'll be made to do in order to hold my cover."

William looked concerned. "Then we'll have to act quickly. I don't quite know if we'll be able to take Undertaker in by brute force. From what I've heard, the man is more than capable of defending himself against multiple adversaries."

"We dupe him then," Sebastian suggested. "The man is conniving, but surely not invincible. If we trick him into putting himself at a disadvantage, then we may be able to take him."

"That sounds like a better idea, but how? The man knows this place far more than we do. He'll have the advantage of familiar terrain."

"We could somehow get him out of the asylum," Aria proposed. "Maybe I could talk him into coming with me to London for supplies or some such. If you call in reinforcements and ambush him while in a carriage in the mild of the moors, then he'll have nowhere to hide."

"But I don't want to risk harming you in the process," William said, shaking his head as though the mere suggestion was unthinkable.

Aria was about to protest, when Sebastian spoke up.

"Allow me to see to Aria's safety. I do not have my master to look over at the moment, so Aria's well being can be my first priority. Indeed, I highly doubt we'll be able to fool Undertaker into anything without her assistance, and that will put her in some little danger. I shall see that no harm comes to her."

Initially, William seemed offended at the very idea, but good sense won over in the end and he agreed to the arrangement.

"Very well," he relented, frowning as he said it. "But you must ensure her safety at all times. No running off to your master at the moment of crisis."

Sebastian bowed his head. "I shall inform my young lord of the situation. You won't find any trouble from that corner. He won't admit it, but he is quite fond of Dr. Sinclair."

Aria smiled. "He probably just wants to keep me around to have someone to beat at chess."

Sebastian chuckled. "I'm afraid he beats most everybody at that particular game, my dear. If that were his criteria for liking someone, he would have a great many friends indeed."

"Touché," Aria murmured, smirking right back. Oh, how she had missed Sebastian's banter.

"It's settled then," William decided aloud. "You will contact Lord Phantomhive and apprise him of your new role as Aria's bodyguard. Now all we need is a specific plan of action."

"I won't be able to arrange anything definite until I know how far Undertaker's work has progressed and where he intends to take it," Aria informed. "I meet with him again tonight. Allow me to look into things further before we devise something concrete."

William nodded. "Of course. Now, about that tour we're supposed to be giving you."

The sound rang through the room three times before Undertaker turned away from his scribbling. His brow furrowed in confusion until he realized that what had interrupted him was a knock at the laboratory door.

"Enter," he shouted, turning back to his papers.

His head popped up once again when the door opened and a metal cart came rolling in, Dr. Carmichael in its wake.

"Bringing me goodies?" the mortician asked, grinning cheekily.

Carmichael chuckled, closing the door behind him and pulling the white sheet off of the cart with a dramatic flourish, revealing the body beneath.

"Allow me to introduce you to Joseph Fairfax. Dead due to sudden cardiac arrest."

"Pity," Undertaker muttered, strolling leisurely toward the newly delivered corpse. "He looked to be a big man in the prime of life, but the heart will get you every time." Making a cursory examination of the unfortunate Mr. Fairfax, the mortician spied a tiny pin-prick on underside of his right elbow. The discovery caused him to snicker. "Too bad the old man took his medicine."

"Rather begrudgingly at first," Dr. Carmichael admitted, "but he came around in the end. They always do. Probably under some false pretense of ending their suffering. It begs the question why they think we go through the trouble of killing them in the first place."

"Well, if we can ever get my research to come to fruition, we may just be able to ask them," Undertaker responded. "Now, help me get our patient on the table."

Carmichael obliged and lifted the man's head as his colleague hoisted the feet. It took no time at all before Mr. Joseph Fairfax was lying peacefully on the blood-stained operating table. Undertaker smiled. It wouldn't be long until any notion of final rest in death was wiped out of his patient's mind forever. This was not a place one came to sleep in everlasting tranquility.

"Do you think this will tide you over for some time?" Carmichael asked, leaning against the head of the operating table, looking for all the world like he was observing a mildly entertaining cricket match instead of lounging beside the fruits of his monstrous ambition.

"It should," Undertaker replied looking the body up and down. "It's a decent sized specimen. Hopefully, he will hold up under experimentation better than the last doll did."

"Do you think we'll be able to get this one to come to his senses?" the doctor asked eagerly. His manner was that of a child being teased with the idea of an early Christmas present; the picture amused Undertaker greatly.

"Perhaps," the elder reaper returned, slinking back to his table covered in notes. "It all depends on what Dr. Sinclair can conjure up. I must admit, I'm running out of plausible ideas. I'm a mortician by trade, not a scientist. I'm surprised I came this far without needing help."

Dr. Carmichael bristled at those words. "Without needing help?" he repeated bitterly, striding across the room to where Undertaker was once again ignoring him. "Do correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe my assistance can hardly be considered anything but help."

Without even bothering to give the slightest impression of interest in the sudden turn the conversation had taken, Undertaker responded lazily, "Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Doctor, but aside from ensuring my stock of supplies does not run dry and providing me with a space to work, it can hardly be considered helpful where scientific collaboration is concerned."

Carmichael's face turned an angry shade of red. "How can you say that? I've operated with you on a countless number of bodies! How can you dismiss my services out of hand like this?"

"Assisting me in operations is not actively participating in creative research. You're simply allowing me to get the job done faster."

That was all the underappreciated medical man could take. "I'm terribly sorry for not being your precious Aria Sinclair," he spouted venomously, "but we can't all have breasts for brains."

Undertaker's entire body stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me! She's done nothing useful whatsoever, and she hardly strikes me as being very intelligent. I assume the only thing you want her for is after hours amusement while I'm not present. Not a terrible idea; she's not a bad looking bird, but you could have called for someone more submissive at least."

p style="margin: 0px;"Undertaker was enraged. In a flash, he was on Carmichael, strong fingers clutched around his throat, pressing the doctor's entire body up against the rotting corpses on the wall. The reaper didn't know if the man was choking due to his hold or the stench of decaying flesh he had been introduced to, but fancied it was a little bit of both.

"I would watch your lecherous tongue if I were you, Carmichael," Undertaker rumbled lowly. "Dr. Sinclair is of too high a caliber for you to even think on much less speak of. I sent for her specifically because of my immeasurable respect for her talents and my belief that she will be able to find a way to help me out of my recent slump. Someone so base as yourself wouldn't be able to understand these concepts or appreciate her intellect, so I'll ask you to stay out of our way, like the obedient dog you are, and maybe, just maybe, I'll still allow you to fetch for me. Is that clear, Doctor? Or perhaps I might as well save myself the trouble and use you as a patient instead of Mr. Fairfax over there? At least he doesn't vex me with an overestimation of his self-importance."

The doctor was wheezing now, and would have been thrashing his head from side to side had not Undertaker's grip been so strong. With a sigh of resignation, the reaper released the man's throat, letting him fall to the floor, backside smacking the stonework with an audible thud. Carmichael began coughing for air, simultaneously rubbing his injured rump.

Undertaker frowned in disgust. The man before him was revolting. A moron. Nothing but a means to an end. His jealously regarding Aria was plain enough to see, and quite frankly, Undertaker was tired of dealing with his over-active superiority complex. He may own a medical license, but the man was completely useless where his role as Stonehart's director ran out. What a waste of human life.

"Recall that dear Aria has only been here for one day," Undertaker stated. "Not even that. I'm sure she'll come up with something eventually, but all good ideas take time to process and inspiration to nurture. Never fear, she won't let us down; my work depends on that fact. Without a way to continually stimulate the brain, I will never be able to bring reason back to the deceased, and that's not good for business. I already have five corpses in the other room that require my attention. Some public school boys and their Vice Headmaster. Their resurrection is a necessity, and I can't afford to miss out on this opportunity to flaunt the evolution of my research."

Carmichael still wasn't talking, and Undertaker smirked. He rather liked him like this.

"Why so quiet, old chum? Cat got your tongue?"

When Carmichael shot daggers at him, Undertaker howled in delight. Well, at least the good old doctor wasn't short on amusement, even if it was at his expense.

* * *

I am so, so, _so_ sorry for how long it's been since my last update. I really have no excuse except for being constantly tired. I work in a research lab, and of course things are not doing what I want them to, a.k.a. equipment is being uncooperative. So, yay for living in a constant state of frustration!

That aside, I intend to update another chapter soon to make up for this lapse. I hope you liked chapter 9! Reviews are always loved!


	10. Chapter 10

"I still don't see why you two have to share a room," Aria commented, genuinely befuddled. "There are basically no other aides here. I mean, we haven't run into a single person aside from Miss Davenport, Mrs. Holly and that nameless janitor on the ground floor. We haven't even seen Ms. Dunne."

"I think the universe just hates me," William said matter-of-factly.

Sebastian rolled his eyes.

"Well, now that I know where to find you two if needed, could you guys show me where they keep the patients?"

Here William and Sebastian looked at each other as though caught in a joint lie.

Aria cocked an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?"

"In a matter of speaking," Sebastian began, looking mildly put off by the situation. Aria, who was not used to seeing anything stump Sebastian, was intrigued. "We haven't been asked to take care of any of the patients yet."

"Beg pardon?" she stated, surprised. "What on Earth were you hired for if not to care for the patients?"

Sebastian shrugged. "An excellent question, though one to which I sadly have no answer. Ms. Dunne never really got around to showing me any of the patients, or any of their rooms. Whether this was done purposefully, I do not know."

"It would be highly coincidental and marvelously inefficient if it wasn't done on purpose," William supposed, crossing his arms. "She was even able to avoid giving me a tour, leaving all of that to Mr. Marlowe here, who clearly wouldn't have been able to point me in the direction of the patients."

"This entire situation is beyond bizarre," Aria sighed, exasperated. "I'm starting to believe that everybody who works here is in more need of medical attention than their patients. Dr. Carmichael is corrupt, Ms. Dunne needs to buy a personality, Miss Davenport can't look people in the eye and Undertaker... well, he requires no explanation, does he?"

Sebastian chuckled. "At least there's Mrs. Holly."

"Thank God for her," Aria exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air.

William smiled. "Seeing as the staff here cannot be trusted, perhaps we should find the patients and see if there is anything amiss."

"Yes, let's," Aria agreed as they continued down the hall. "Well, I suppose the only other place to go from here is up. I haven't been to any of the upper levels yet, have you two?"

"No," William answered, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "We didn't want to do extensive snooping lest we run into Undertaker. He would recognize Michaelis instantly, and notice I am a reaper if he got too close."

"I highly doubt we'll run into him upstairs," Aria thought aloud. "His laboratory is in the depths of the asylum, and he does so many operations I'd say he's down there most of the time."

"Here's hoping you're right," Sebastian muttered as they climbed the stairs to the second storey.

Aria took this opportunity to show them where she was staying before they made their way to the third storey.

"Do either of you know how many floors this place has?" Aria inquired, as they looked about the eerily silent third storey hallway.

"There are ten storeys visible from outside," Sebastian informed her. "As far as the underground levels are concerned, you would know better than I."

"I recall some of the upper floor windows being boarded up," Aria continued, looking out of a mullioned window that gave an excellent view of the drive below.

"Yes, that piqued my curiosity as well," Sebastian replied, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger in thought. "Perhaps some of the upper levels are no longer in use?"

"Perhaps," Aria murmured, unconvinced. This place was too peculiar to suppose anything.

"Shall we continue on?" William questioned, tilting his head toward the end of the hall.

"Of course," Aria confirmed, turning to follow him down the corridor, Sebastian in their wake.

After they had made a thorough examination of the third storey without stumbling upon anything of interest, they continued their trek upward.

"This is getting ridiculous," William muttered.

"Tell me about it," Aria agreed, frowning. "Where the hell is everybody?"

Just as they were about to assume their chances of finding anybody or anything was remote at best, they exited the stairwell onto the fifth floor landing, and were almost run down by a young woman in a maid uniform.

"Sorry, sorry," the girl apologized hurriedly, ducking her head and attempting to get past them without making eye-contact.

"Wait a moment, please," Aria stated, grabbing her arm.

The woman's head shot up abruptly, almost colliding with Aria's own. Her eyes were wide and frantic, looking around as though she was afraid of being punished for interacting with another human being. The pathologist nearly lost her grip on the woman's arm when she saw the maid's bewildered state of distress.

Wishing to sooth the girl's alarm, Aria smiled and said in a soft voice, "I'm terribly sorry for startling you. I was hoping you could tell us where you just came from. You looked to be retreating in quite a hurry."

The girl visibly swallowed past a lump in her throat, and said in a shaky voice, "I was - er, that is - I just finished cleaning da patients' bedrooms. Now's their time ta be out, so I had ta get da cleaning done."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry for holding you up. Tell me, are the patients still out?"

"Yeah," the woman responded, nodding.

"Where are they at the moment?"

"In the morning room, like usual," the maid replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable. As if suddenly noticing William and Sebastian, her eyes widened before darting back to Aria's. Shuffling her feet, she gave a hushed, "Can I go now?"

"By all means," the doctor returned, letting go of her arm.

Without a moment's hesitation, the maid rushed past them and practically ran down the stairs.

"Well, that was odd," William wondered, looking after her.

"She looked frightened out of her wits," Aria commented, a cloud of worry darkening her eyes.

"Perhaps she broke something in one of the patients' rooms and was trying to get away before being caught," Sebastian suggested, crossing his arms. "Surely it wouldn't be the first time."

"Should this tell us something about your staff?" William queried, looking over at his demonic roommate.

"You have that ginger basket-case, and I have my incompetent underlings. Nobody's workplace is perfect."

"On this much, we agree," William stated, smirking. "Would you like to trade?"

"Not on your life," the demon returned, smirking back.

"Are you two actually getting along?" Aria asked, feigning shock. "I don't know how to handle this situation. My special training didn't cover such an impossibility."

Their joint glare teased a laugh out of her. Turning on her heel, she chuckled and waved her hand. "Come, gentlemen, we have work to do."

After a few minutes of wandering, the trio managed to come across a door that had voices on the other side.

"The morning room, perhaps?" Sebastian said, looking over at Aria.

"Given that it's the only room we've found with living people in it, I'd say so," she returned. "Well, let's see these patients."

Twisting the knob and lightly pushing forward, the door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a surprisingly well-lit room with an equally surprising number of people in it.

"What do you know," she muttered under her breath, "this building does house patients."

"And they seem to be fairly well cared for," William added.

"Indeed," Aria replied absent-mindedly, venturing farther into the room.

Uncharacteristic for the asylum, the room had comfortably upholstered chairs and even tables with tea things set out. The wall opposite the door was lined with clean glass windows, letting in the weak, but inviting, sun. Plants were scattered about the lounging area, giving off the impression of life, while colorful carpets covered the wooden floor.

Patients were sitting all around the room, some in the upholstered seats, some on the window sills and others in wheel-chairs that they probably rarely left. More were simply standing, gazing vacantly into open space or dancing minimally by themselves.

Some of the nurses - cold looking creatures with hair pulled back as tight as Ms. Dunne's - looked Aria over with suspicious eyes, but upon introducing herself, they at least hid their discontent.

William and Sebastian split up, introducing themselves as newly hired aides and asking if their assistance was required. They were thanked for their offer, but always declined in the end. After reassuring herself that the patients were indeed in good health and meeting all of the nurses, Aria left the room. William and Sebastian followed after her a few minutes later.

They walked in silence until they were far enough away from the morning room not to be overheard.

"Well," Aria began, "all of the patients in the room are in good health physically speaking."

"Hardly the friendliest of workers, though," William input. "All of the nurses insisted they didn't require our help at all."

"They appear to be wary of outsiders, almost to a ludicrous level," Sebastian agreed, leaning against the wall. "I wasn't able to get anything helpful out of them."

"Nor was I," Aria added. "Still, I couldn't help but note one overwhelming fact."

"And that fact would be?" William asked, looking down at her with sudden interest.

"The last names of all of the patients, you didn't find anything suspicious about them?"

"Not particularly," Sebastian shrugged. "They all seem to be individuals from well to do families suffering from unfortunate mental maladies."

"Precisely," Aria exclaimed, eyes bright with excitement. "Every single one of those patients were from wealthy families. There wasn't a single individual from a middle class family at all. The patient with the lowest status was the son of a wealthy merchant. Now, I don't know about you lot, but I've never been to a public asylum that caters exclusively to the upper echelons of society when a middle class family can also pay the fee for admission."

"You make a good point," Sebastian said after her explanation. "The absence of any patient of normal birth is indeed unusual."

"And it begs the question," William began, "that if this asylum once had patients from less prevalent families, where are they now?"

There was a brief silence while the trio considered the implications of this question. Taking into account all of the horrendous goings-on in the asylum, a worst case scenario situation was a definite possibility.

"I say we check the rest of the floors," Aria stated evenly. "As I recall, the upper windows are shuttered, so if there is anything to hide, that would be the place to put it."

"I concur," William nodded. Looking over at Sebastian, he asked, "Are you up for an extended tour?"

"But of course," the demon smiled, eyes closed. "Lead the way."

)*(

After leaving the fifth storey for the sixth, the windows had become boarded and impossible to see through. The sixth and seventh storeys held absolutely nothing of interest. As usual, all of the walls and doors were a sterile white, and everything was locked. No sound could be heard aside from the trio's footsteps and occasional sighs of frustration.

As they finished their inspection of the eighth storey, they were beginning to assume that the top floors really were just unused. Still, having come that far, none of them were willing to leave their snooping job unfinished. Bound and determined, they trotted their way up to the ninth floor.

This search began as equally unremarkable as all of the others. The doors were all locked, no notion of life coming from behind any of them, and the windows were all boarded, not a sliver of sunlight breaking through. The boredom was about to kick up another volley of complaints when they came to a door at the end of the hallway that was not only locked, but padlocked.

"If they were going for suspicious," Aria commented, "they've succeeded."

Sebastian stepped closer, leaning over to inspect the lock.

"It isn't rusted," he informed them, going down on his haunches in order to become eye level with the mechanism. "I'd say it's unlocked rather frequently."

"That's a surprise," William said, crouching down by the demonic butler to get a better look. "I didn't think this place got much through traffic."

"My thoughts exactly," Sebastian returned.

Furrowing his brows, William put his ear to the door. Sebastian did the same. Both listened. Aria stood behind them, trying to hold back her impatience. With the both of them crouched in front of the door, it was impossible for her to get a closer look and inspect it herself. Reining in a sigh, she crossed her arms and awaited their assessment.

It came sooner than she expected.

"There are people behind this door," William confirmed before standing back up to his full height.

"A decent number too," Sebastian added, rising as well.

Both men turned back to her.

"I say we have a look," the demon suggested. "This development does not bode well."

"No, it most certainly doesn't," Aria concurred, frowning deeply. "Why on earth would they keep people all the way up here behind a padlocked door?"

"Only one way to find out," Sebastian prodded, raising an eyebrow.

"Sadly," William stated, "we do not have the key to the door. For hired aides, we certainly don't serve much of a purpose."

Sebastian shrugged, looking distinctly unperturbed by this significant setback to his plans. "Tosh. I can just break the door down. It would hardly pose much of a problem."

Aria's eyes widened as she stepped forward to preempt any sudden moves Sebastian had a mind to make to that effect.

Meanwhile, William was muttering something under his breath regarding the other man's demonic nature.

"Are you insane?" Aria asked, grabbing his arm as though to stop its use. "If you break that door down, then our covers will be blown for sure. We don't know exactly who's behind that door; it could be other staff members, which would make our clandestine investigation hard to explain away. Besides, if we did manage to break it down and get away undetected, this breech of security will certainly raise suspicions, and who do you think they would suspect first? The newly hired aides and one recently arrived doctor. No, that wouldn't do at all."

Finally releasing his arm, Aria stooped down to examine the lock herself.

Sebastian, though irritated at being corrected (And in front of a reaper, no less!), stood silently behind her and made no move to kick the blasted slab of wood off its hinges.

William was doing his best to hide his smirk, and after failing miserably, earning him a glare from his roommate, he turned to watch Aria.

She was studying the lock intently, testing its strength and peering at the keyhole. He couldn't help but notice her slender fingers or how delicate her wrists were. Ashamed of thinking such a thing at a time like this, he diverted his gaze to a spot higher up the door and took on an air of superior indifference.

The demon across from him, however, had not missed a beat. Having witnessed and manipulated human desires for centuries, he interpreted what he had just watched in a matter of moments. Displaying a smirk that told of his truly despicable nature, he glanced over at Will and stated, "Modern day locks can be so terribly frustrating, can't they, Mr. Spears?"

The scathing glare he received in response was delightful in the extreme.

Having blocked out the entire exchange, Aria stood back up and dusted off her hands. Turning to the men at her back, she was momentarily put off by the faces they were giving one another, but eventually attributed them to their natural animosity and began to speak.

"This lock is complex, but not impossible. I shall have to fetch my lock-picking tools. With them, I should be able to force it."

"Marvelous," Sebastian purred, still glancing at William. "I'm sure you're skilled hands will make short work of it."

Aria cocked an eyebrow, and William looked as though he were about to kill Sebastian on the spot with only the seething hatred in his eyes.

Perhaps that was why none of them noticed Ms. Dunne before she spoke.

"What are you three doing up here?"

They jolted to attention and were scrambling for answers when it was silently agreed upon that Aria would be the one to lie for the team.

Smiling, she looked over at Ms. Dunne and stated, "These fine gentlemen were giving me a tour of the asylum when we discovered that all three of us were relatively new here. We decided, therefore, that we would get acquainted with the building together. We had just come upon this locked door when you found us. Pray tell, what is behind it?"

"That is none of your concern," the matron scolded harshly, eyes squinting in anger. "You shouldn't stick your nose where it doesn't belong."

Aria did nothing to hide her shock at this admonishment.

"My dear Ms. Dunne, you make it sound like something terrible."

She had nothing to say to that.

"Well," Aria continued, walking past the column of ice that was Ms. Dunne, "we shall take our leave, then. Come, gentlemen. It would seem we're not wanted here."

Without a word, the men followed her lead and the trio eventually found their way back to William and Sebastian's quarters. They had walked silently the entire way down, and didn't speak until the door was firmly locked behind them.

When this was done, Aria spun on her heel and pinched her chin in thought. "A blatantly hostile reception, that," she muttered. "She's certainly not trying to make this place seem less suspicious."

"Indeed," Sebastian said, tilting his head. "It would seem that whatever is behind that door is incriminating in the extreme."

"And the fact we know there are people behind it hardly lifts my spirits," William sighed, sitting down on his stone of a bed. "We can't leave this unattended. We must investigate soon."

"I agree," Aria said, looking over at William. "Tonight after I return from Undertaker's laboratory, I will run to my room, grab my supplies, and come to get you two. Then we can head upstairs and see about opening that door."

"Sounds like a plan," Sebastian intoned.

"Good. I'll head out then," Aria stated, turning to open the door.

Before she could do so, however, Sebastian called out to her.

"Aria," he began.

Turning back around, she looked over at him. "Yes?"

"If you feel threatened, or require any assistance at all, do not hesitate to call my name."

At a loss for what to say, she nodded once and muttered, "Yes. Thank you, Sebastian," before retreating through the door.

)*(

"Any word from William?"

Alan looked up from his paperwork to see who had addressed him. Lynn was poking her head through his cubical space, brown hair in a sloppy up-do and glasses resting so low on her nose she looked like a librarian about to scold.

Smiling softly, Alan shook his head. "No, not yet. Don't worry, Lynn, I'll contact you directly when I receive anything from him."

Lynn gave a slight frown. "Fine," she sighed, waltzing past his work area and out of sight.

Alan chuckled. Lynn tried to make it seem as though she wasn't worried, but she wasn't doing the best job of it. Turning back to his paperwork, Alan determined to get the rest of the stack done before he clocked out. He didn't like to leave things unfinished, and a stack of uncompleted papers was hardly the thing he wanted to be greeted by tomorrow morning.

Unconsciously humming a popular drinking song, Alan returned to systematically signing, stamping and stacking.

He didn't get far, however, before he was interrupted again.

"Alan, sweetheart, have you seen Elle? I've just had the most excellent idea and must tell her immediately."

There was no need to look behind him to know who had asked that question.

"She was headed in the direction of the lift last time I saw her, Grell," Alan said, not breaking his rhythm. "It couldn't have been much more than five minutes ago."

"Thank you, dear," the red-head called back, sashaying away.

Finally, some peace and quiet.

"Hey, Al!"

He stood corrected.

"What do you want, Ronald?" Alan asked, trying to hide his irritation. Ever since William had left to do his undercover work, Alan had been the go to man in the office. He was beginning to understand why William was always so perturbed.

"Could you look over this paperwork?" the blonde reaper asked, handing over two sheets of type. "I've never been good at formatting and summarizing like you, so I'd like your input."

Spinning around in his chair, Alan acquiesced, gently taking the papers from Ronald's grip. "It's good to see you so conscientious about your work, Ronald," the brunette stated, quickly scanning over his colleague's report. "If I were you, I'd take out this sentence here; it's not really necessary. Also, try not to use too many contractions. Full words look more professional. Other than that, you did a fairly decent job."

Ronald beamed with pride. "Will do! Thanks, boss." And with that, he sauntered away.

Alan turned back to his paperwork once more and fell into his working groove again before he realized that Ronald had just called him boss.

Flushing a little in embarrassment and delight, Alan continued working until he was interrupted yet again. This time, it was Eric, who had popped his head over the cubical wall in front of him. Technically, Eric was his superior, and Alan had always wanted to be just like him when he advanced in his career. He still looked up to Eric, but he was finding that their dynamic was changing to that of friends more than a superior to his subordinate.

A little confused as to why Eric would be calling for him, he looked up with a questioning gaze and asked, "What is it, Eric? Surely you don't need me to look over your paperwork as well."

Eric laughed. "Not hardly, Alan. You're a top-notch employee and all, but I'm not as green as Ronald. I was just wondering if you would like to go grab some lunch. You've been working so diligently today that you haven't even realized it's past noon."

Alan's eyes widened as he looked up at the clock on the wall.

Well, what do you know...

"Sounds great," he responded, pushing his chair out and rising from his desk. "Like you said, I didn't even notice."

Eric shrugged. "It happens. Still, it's good to take a break every now and then. Come on, I heard they have pie in the cafeteria."

Alan chuckled. "Do they have any real food, perchance?"

"What are you talking about, Al? Pie is real food."

Alan rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, boss."

When they were finally seated with their real food and slices of pie, Eric wondered out loud, "I wondered what "excellent idea" Grell wanted to share with Lynn?"

"I haven't the faintest," Alan admitted, spearing a peach slice with his fork. "But with those two, who knows what's in store."

"A hell of a lot of trouble, that's what," Eric stated, going first for his dessert. "At least with Lynn around, Grell's antics are more on the amusing side and less on the criminal. A good change for all concerned."

"Indeed," Alan agreed. "Looks like we'll just have to wait and see."

"Oh goodie."

)*(

It was after nightfall before Aria made her way down to Undertaker's laboratory. As she traveled down the crumbling steps alone, she tried to think of anything other than her present surroundings and the amount of dead bodies waiting for her at her destination. So what if the twisting stairwell looked like something out of a medieval horror story? What did she think was going to happen? There was no way a gaggle of ghosts were going to start reaching for her through the poorly cleaned walls. Ghosts weren't real, anyway.

Or were they?

Because apparently reapers and demons were real.

Now her imagination was getting out of hand.

Shaking her head at her own skittishness, she carefully made her way down the spiraling staircase until she reached the uneven, yet stable, stone floor of the basement level. Steeling herself for what horrors may be to come, she located the door to Undertaker's workshop and knocked. She heard shuffling from inside and was beginning to knock again when the rough hewn surface was pulled back and replaced with Undertaker's emerald eyes.

Having satisfied himself as to her identity, he threw the door open wide and greeted her with a toothy grin.

"Ah, Dr. Sin. What a sight for sore eyes. Come in, come in!"

Ushering her inside, Undertaker closed and locked the door behind her. After this precaution was taken, he glided past her into the room, strangely graceful in his costume of black robes and startlingly tall leather boots.

Upon her first finding him, she had hardly had time to inspect his entire outfit, what with the histrionics and rotting corpses, but now she took him in fully, and found herself completely floored by the sheer height of his boots. Dear God. Did they go all the way up?

He saw her mildly impressed stare and snickered. "Do you like them?" he questioned, pulling a robe back to show them off. "It's a bit much, I know, but at least I never have to worry about them coming untied."

"Not with that amount of buckles you don't," Aria acknowledged, crossing her arms. "Did they have to kill a whole cow to get the leather for those things?"

Here he let out a shriek of laughter, sending a chill through her. Damn, he could be creepy.

"One cow for each boot," he giggled, strolling over to the operation table that Aria now perceived was not empty. "Anyhow, we didn't come here to discuss my fashion choices. We've been given a new plaything."

The way he grinned as he spoke put Aria on her guard.

"Oh?" she questioned, trying to portray perfect calm coupled with modest interest. "And how did we come across this?"

On the table, strapped down even though he was clearly no longer among the living, was a man who appeared to be in his late forties. There were signs of minute malnutrition and enough bruising around his wrists, ankles and arms to suggest that he had fought against his restraints for a long period before he died. Indeed, some of the bruising was older while some seemed to be fairly recent. Conclusion: the man had been restrained multiple times during his stay at Stonehart. His body showed no immediately visible clues to his death, but Aria knew enough to believe it suspicious and unnatural.

"Dr. Carmichael was kind enough to bring him down earlier today," Undertaker explained, patting the man's head. "Died of cardiac arrest. Not the best way to go."

Aria agreed.

Making a quick examination of the body, she spied a small, but perceptible injection mark on the inside of his right elbow. If this man had died of cardiac arrest, it was undoubtedly induced. If that was the case, then that made Dr. Carmichael more than an unsavory cohort. The man was a murderer, and Undertaker was no better.

"What are you planning to do with the poor sod?" Aria asked, looking curiously up at Undertaker. "You clearly haven't done any work on him yet, and I see no immediate reason to strap a dead man to a table unless you believe he won't be dead for very much longer."

The grin she received was unsettling.

"It is satisfying having a partner who can grasp the full picture without being led along by the hand. Yes, I have not done anything to him as of yet. That is because I wanted to operate on him with you, so you can get the full grasp of my research. His being strapped down led you to the only possible conclusion. I intend to show you my resurrection methods tonight."

Oh joy.

"You intend to finish all of that in one night?" Aria asked, sounding incredulous. "Will it not take time?"

Undertaker found a hair tie and brought his silver locks up and out of his face. Aria was once again struck by how beautiful the man was with his bangs out of the way.

"I have worked on so many bodies, my dear, that I have rather streamlined the process," he began. "We need only successfully place the metal rods in his brain and charge him with volts of electricity. Not too complex, once you get the hang of it, but I would rather give you a hands on experience than have you take my word for it. Besides, I want you to see exactly why this device is inefficient for my purposes."

Aria nodded vaguely at his explanation and looked around the room searchingly. "Do I at least get a lab coat? I don't exactly want to soil this dress with human blood."

Undertaker giggled and pranced over to a trunk, yanking the requested object out of its confines. "So, even established doctors worry about their appearance, eh?" he joked before tossing the white garment over to her.

She rolled her eyes and slipped the lab coat on, buttoning it all the way up. "I am allowed to care about my clothes. Blood stains lead to difficult laundry, and I am infernally lazy."

He cackled again, opting not to use the same protection for his black robes. "I would offer you gloves, but I'm afraid I don't have any. Neither Dr. Carmichael nor I use them."

"Surprise, surprise," she muttered sardonically. "Lucky for you, I have a strong stomach."

"Lucky for you, we won't be playing around in his guts," Undertaker returned, rolling a tray of instruments over to the operating table. "Just the brain. And we won't even be taking it out. See? A clean procedure."

"Stop trying to make yourself feel better about not having gloves on hand," she shot back, smiling belatedly at her own pun.

Her companion, true to character, picked up on it as well. "Ha! Gloves on hand! You always were a riot!"

"I'm here all night," she announced, bowing dramatically at the waist. "Feel free to leave tips."

"Here's one," he started, beckoning her to the table. "Don't make a man laugh as he's performing surgery."

"Why?" she queried, looking genuinely confused. "Afraid you'll kill your patient?"

They both broke out into another bout of roaring cackles, and Aria suddenly realized how easy it had been to fall back into her old routine with Undertaker. It was as though the man had never left, and a small part of her wished that that was, in fact, the case.

"Now that you've thoroughly amused me, my dove, shall we commence with proceedings?"

His question reminded her just what it was they were about to do, and her stomach dropped.

"But of course," she responded, hiding her fallen spirits well. Now more than ever had she finally realized just how impossible her old friendship with Undertaker had become.

"Good," he commented, picking up a straight razor. "Shall you shave the head, or shall I?"

"You are the mortician," she replied. "I'm surprised you'd hand over the opportunity."

He smiled. "You know me too well. I'll give him his haircut, then. You shall attend to the rest. With my supervision, of course."

"Of course, Professor," she teased, raising an eyebrow. "Now, are you going to keep blathering, or are you going to get to work?"

"Snarky one, aren't you?" he kidded, before wetting the man's hair and proceeding to shave his head. It didn't take long before he finished the job; Aria hadn't figured it would. Still, she was hardly prepared to needlessly butcher the body of a murder victim, and even less prepared for the man's imminent resurrection. Backing out now, however, was out of the question. It would only raise Undertaker's suspicions if she suddenly got queasy. She was never queasy.

"Are you ready, Dr. Sin?" he asked, setting the razor back down on the instrument tray.

"Of course," she assured him. Calmly, detachedly, she began marking the places to cut. Once that step was out of the way, the procedure began. With a scalpel, she removed the flesh from the top of the skull. From there, it became only a matter of cleanly cutting away the skull without significantly cracking it, as it would be replaced later on. When all of this had been completed, she looked over at Undertaker expectantly.

"What is it we do now?" she inquired, placing her instruments back on the tray.

"Now, my dear, we place these." Here he picked up the metal rods and grinned sadistically. "Allow me to do this bit for you. Watch where I place them so you may replicate the procedure in the future."

Stepping to the side, she allowed Undertaker to replace her at the head of the operating table. Peering over his shoulder, she watched closely at where he placed his electrical conductors. The steps weren't very complex, and it took but a moment to set everything up the way he wanted. Clapping his hands for a job well done, he hooked the conductors to a generator at the end of the room with coils of wire.

Grinning at what was about to take place, he snaked his fingers around the lever that would power the electrical current.

"You might want to step back, dear heart. Wouldn't want you getting shocked, now would we?"

Taking his precaution, Aria quickly made her way to the other side of the room, dreading the display she was about to see. Death she was accustomed to, but unnatural rebirth? This was not going to end well.

"Ready?" Undertaker called out, anticipation pouring off of him in waves.

"I suppose," Aria muttered, unable to hide her anxiety.

Undertaker either ignored her wariness or was completely heedless of it. "Marvelous," he whispered to himself before pulling the lever with a theatrical fling of his body.

Instantly, a whizzing noise was evident in the room, as the machine started whirring. Aria could see the sparks dancing off of the wires as they raced to the body at the heart of the laboratory. She was grabbed by an unshakable feeling of dread as the first snapping bolt reached the conducting rods protruding from the corpse's brain.

And then it all seemed to happen in a rush. The conducting rods were bombarded with electricity as the lights in the room began flickering on and off. Aria was beginning to wonder if the brain would be fried instead of revived when a high pitched scream sounded out in the small space.

She suddenly realized that neither she nor the Undertaker were screaming.

Her heart stopped as the body on the table lurched forward and reached for the sky, every fiber begging for the pain to end. She stifled a gasp, fisting her hand and biting down on her knuckles until she tasted copper. This was wrong. So, horribly unnatural. What on earth had they done?

As soon as it began, Undertaker threw the lever up, interrupting the electrical current and ending the parade of dangerous sparks marching down the wires to the bastard at the other end. The man fell back on the table, moaning and groaning as his agony slowly receded. As the corpse's eyelids fluttered closed, his breathing began to take on a more natural pace, and he was soon sleeping where he had previously been decomposing.

Aria's mouth hung agape in wonder. That had been astonishing.

She was unable to check her expression before Undertaker began giggling at it. Closing her mouth and regaining her composure, the pathologist was fairly certain in her ability to hold an intelligent conversation by the time Undertaker joined her at her side of the room.

"What did you think?" he asked excitedly.

The doctor imagined he already knew the answer, given her plainly visible amazement, but she humored him anyway.

"That was... incredible." And she wasn't lying. It really had been incredible, grotesque though it was.

He jumped at her praise, picking her up by the waist and spinning her around the room in his joy. A squeak escaped her lips when he did this, and she had no other choice but to hold on to his shoulders until his display of emotion ceased. When that finally happened, she was horribly dizzy and had to clutch at a table to keep from falling over.

Once his glee had abated to a manageable level, he turned back to her and asked, "What can you do to progress this? The body is now alive, but it will die again if not stimulated once more. I can't have a body that continually needs recharging, and as you can see, the metal rods hardly make for a charming hat. I need you to fix my flaws."

For a moment she said nothing. He had asked her to fix what was wrong with his experiments, and she couldn't help but come to the conclusion that the experiments themselves were what was wrong. Still, she had to give him some type of answer.

"The electricity," she began, "is too strong when introduced in this way. The body awakens in intense pain and is unable to function. We will have to find a way to stimulate the brain without such volatile charges."

He nodded, seriously listening to everything she said. "Yes, I've noticed this. The electricity awakens the corpses, but they always have to rest for quite some time afterwards due to the experience. Their sleeping takes up most of the time between recharging, which doesn't open the doors to a lot of recuperation opportunities. If you could find a more efficient way to stimulate and recharge the corpses, I would be eternally indebted to you."

"Hell yeah you would," she muttered, causing him to smile. "I'll begin working on the problem. It may take me some time, but I don't know if I could witness another bout of shrieking corpse."

Undertaker actually grimaced. "Yes, it is a bit hellish to witness, I suppose."

"You suppose correctly. Now, if that's all we're doing for tonight, I think I shall turn in. It's been quite a day."

"Yes, it most certainly has. Well, goodnight, my dove. I shall see you tomorrow night."

"Goodnight, Undertaker," she returned, handing her lab coat over to him.

After washing her hands in the washbasin, she left him there, alone with his victims.

"Now to grab my lock-picking equipment," she mumbled to herself as she hurried up the twisting stairs back to the earth's surface.

* * *

Hello, everybody! Long time no update, but that's nothing new, I suppose. Here's a little Christmas present by way of a new chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. May everyone have a very merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler or it's wonderful characters. Those are Yana Toboso's.

* * *

"Both men stood at attention when they heard the knock on the door. Glancing at his watch, William saw that it was already past one in the morning. Lord, how long did the Undertaker keep her down there? Sebastian wasted no time in opening the passage for their guest, and before long, Aria Sinclair was with them once more.

"If the situation wasn't so dire," Sebastian chimed, "I would have to question your choice of visiting hours."

Aria walked past him into the room, and he shut the door behind her, locking it for good measure.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, you insolent mercenary," she responded, lifting her lock-picking tools. "I'm hardly here for such revolting reasons."

The demon smirked. "I was merely pointing out that your arrival was on the late side. What on earth did you think I meant?"

"Innocence is so transparent on you, Sebastian," Aria informed him. She turned to look at William and smiled. "At least I have you I can count on."

The reaper returned her smile. "Yes, you do at that."

"Now," she continued, "down to business. Undertaker had me do a full procedure tonight, which is why I'm so ghastly late. He received a new corpse from Carmichael earlier today, told me the man died of cardiac arrest, but I highly doubt that's the case. At least, not natural cardiac arrest. There was an injection mark on the underside of the man's right elbow, and it was very recent. I'm absolutely positive that Dr. Carmichael was directly responsible for the man's death."

Sebastian chuckled. "Rather ironic, wouldn't you say, that the being bringing death in this instance is a doctor, while the being producing life is a reaper?"

William clenched his teeth. "This is no laughing matter, beast. The people who are being murdered here are having their natural lives cut short due to the bestial machinations of a lunatic. At least show a little respect for their passing."

The demon looked distinctly unamused. "Death is part and parcel of life, Mr. Spears. I was merely making an observation."

"You wouldn't find it funny if you saw what I have," Aria stated, siding with William in this matter. "The corpse came back to life screaming in agony. It was the most horrifying thing I have ever witnessed. What's more, Undertaker didn't seem fazed at all. God, sick as it was he seemed... proud. He's expecting me to begin working on a solution to his problem soon, and I just may if only to save those poor souls from any more agony during the resurrection process."

The butler remained silent as William looked over at Aria, a frown forming on his face. "We shall discuss the extent to which you should get involved with his experiments later. Now, however, we should probably start making our way to that padlocked door from this morning. Hopefully Ms. Dunne will see fit to be somewhere else while we do our clandestine search."

"Very well," Aria agreed, hiding her tools on her person and twisting the handle of the door. "Let's see what other secrets this asylum is keeping. Oh, and don't forget to grab the dark lantern. With the windows shuttered, we'll need a source of light."

Popping her head into the hallway, she confirmed that the coast was clear and stepped out into the corridor, the two men following after her. It took them an annoyingly long time to make it up to the ninth floor, as they stopped at every sound to ensure that no one was shadowing them. They did get there eventually, however, and found themselves once again crouching before the padlock. The dark lantern was set on the ground to give Aria light to work by.

The pathologist cast a cursory glance behind her to be on the safe side before pulling her tools out of a pocket in her skirt. Slipping two metal instruments out of the miniature leather satchel, she turned her attention to the lock as William and Sebastian stood guard. It was a fairly large and complex piece of work, and took her a tad longer to jimmy than she may have wished. Still, after a stretch of time with no other sound than the slight scraping of metal on metal, there was an audible click followed by a hushed exclamation of triumph. The men looked over their shoulders to find Aria quickly stowing her tools away into her hidden pocket as she came back up to a standing position. So far, their sneaking about had gone unnoticed, and they prayed it would remain that way as Aria removed the padlock and turned back to them.

"You lot ready?" she asked, voice low with anticipation.

"We follow your lead, Doctor," Sebastian mouthed, looking startlingly calm, as though breaking into a locked room in a secluded asylum was as mundane as a stroll in Hyde Park.

William, for his part, simply nodded. He, too, looked unperturbed, and Aria momentarily wondered how useful it must be to have supernatural abilities.

Well, no time to dwell on that now when there was a job to be done.

In one swift motion, Aria had the door creaking open. Peeking through into the dark room, her first impression was that it was completely abandoned. Were the people that the boys sensed earlier gone? Then she heard it. Hardly audible to the ear, one had to be straining to catch it. Someone - or something - had shifted, and she had heard the faint clank and drag of metal. The room was not empty after all.

She was surprised, however, that they had not yet been accosted if someone else was in the room. Given that all of the windows were boarded up and the locked room was completely dark, the light from their lantern should have tipped anybody off to their presence. Still, even though she was positive she had heard someone, nobody was attempting to dissuade them from entering the room like Ms. Dunne had earlier. Something wasn't right here.

"Why are you hesitating?" William whispered from behind her.

She hadn't recalled him being so close, and jumped a little when his voice broke the eerie stillness. Pretending the jolt didn't happen, she murmured back, "I swear someone is in there, but if that is the case, then why haven't they kicked us out yet?"

William furrowed his brow and peered over her shoulder. "There is definitely someone in there," he confirmed, nose brushing the shell of her ear. "Multiple someones."

Aria had never been so grateful of the dark.

"Well," she stuttered, attempting to bring her mind back to the problem at hand, "let us investigate."

The door was then pushed open and the trio entered the ominous room. The first thing that assailed their senses was the smell. It was wretched. Not only was the presence of mold and mildew quite notable, but the entire area reeked of human expulsions and bodily fluids. It reminded Aria of a sickroom. Thankfully, her nose was fairly indomitable given her occupation. Yet even with this advantage, she was struck by the potency of the stench. Who could allow any place to come to such a state?

A sudden sound caused them all to stop.

Straining their ears, they listened carefully, not daring to speak.

It sounded again.

Aria was fairly sure she could identify that noise. Given the rumbling timbre and the agonizing despair, there was only one thing it could be: a human groan.

Suddenly getting an idea as to what type of place they were standing in, Aria stepped forward abruptly and thrust the lantern into the darkness. What she saw was horrifying.

The metal bars were coated with oxidized iron, showing a severe lack of care. Rust was not the only thing clinging to the cold steel, however. Blood was peppered over the bars of the cage, some stains more recent than others. Even so, the state of the metal prison was not the most disturbing sight; that honor was reserved for what lay inside.

"Dear God," Aria breathed as the young woman in the cage cowered away from her light. The poor creature threw her arms up to shield her face, as though her eyes could not possibly handle the lantern's glow. Her body, dirty and malnourished, trembled with the expectation of something dreadful to come.

"Well," a mellifluous voice rang out from behind, "it seems we've found our missing patients."

Sebastian's observation prompted the pathologist to move away from the whimpering female to look around the rest of the room. The scene was heartbreaking. Along the sides of the room were rows of cages, each one holding the shell of a person. Every single one of them had an instinctual aversion to the light, and shied away from Aria when ever she came near. The source of the unspeakable odor was now apparent, and she wanted nothing more than to help these poor prisoners escape, but given their currant circumstances, that was impossible, at least for the moment.

"How monstrous," William muttered under his breath, appalled by what he saw before him. "How humanity can treat each other in such a way will always be a mystery to me."

Sebastian, having recovered from his initial shock, was more than happy to give the reaper a lesson on the depravity of the human heart, but William was simply not in the mood.

"For once," he sneered, "the situation does not require your immoral philosophizing to make it worse."

The demon wisely kept his opinions to himself.

"We have to talk to them," Aria said in a hushed voice, looking up at William. "We have to know what's being done to them."

"I believe we can surmise," Sebastian input, waving his hand lazily at the cages. "Clearly they are being tortured and used in that rogue reaper's experiments."

"That is what I would assume," Aria returned, "but perhaps they can tell us something that would be of use in our investigation. The faster we wrap this up, the faster we can help them out."

"The question is, which one would be willing, or able, to speak to us?" William stated, looking out onto the dismal condition of the would be patients. "Most of them are likely far gone by now."

Aria sighed. "We'll have to approach the ones that don't try to avoid us like the plague."

Sebastian gave an odd smile, and Aria rolled her eyes, attempting to ignore it. Who knew what she had said to amuse him.

"Very well," William agreed. "Let us see what information we can gather."

To increase their chances of success, the trio split up and talked individually to the trembling prisoners in their dilapidated cages. Aria assumed this effort, though well meant, would be futile. These patients, from the poorest families the asylum catered to, had been so terribly treated that both their mental and physical conditions had deteriorated well beyond what they must have been at the time of their admission. Given the horrors they had been subjected to, the doctor highly doubted any of them would be in a position to speak to them at all, much less give them any helpful information. Still, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to hopefully glean further knowledge of the institution's deranged practices. There was one thing she knew for certain: she had to get these people out of here, and quickly.

After yet another pitiable creature turned away from her in fear, she was truly despairing of their chances. Determined to attempt conversation with every patient before giving up, she approached the next person in the line of cages. The individual she looked upon now was an older woman, with whitened hair that had undoubtedly been an ethereal blonde in years gone by. Her skin was wrinkled with age and nearly translucent with lack of sunlight. The many scars and bruises that littered her shivering form were a testament to the severe treatment she had undergone at the hands of her tormentors, and Aria's blood boiled in rage. How dare these murderers parade under the guise of doctors, winning the confidence of the desperate and downcast only to betray their trust and treat them like dogs! Indignation coursed through her veins, and she tried to subdue the anger that was likely flickering across her features as she began to speak to the frail woman.

"Hello, ma'am," she cooed soothingly, hoping to put the lady at ease. "Tell me, are you able to speak?"

The woman, shifting gingerly due to the pain caused by the manacles clamped around her ankles and wrists, came round to face her, blinking slowly and staring blankly into Aria's eyes. Shocked that her words had elicited any kind of positive response, Aria paused and smiled sweetly, suddenly afraid of scaring the old woman.

Preparing to repeat her inquiry once more, she was surprised when the woman herself asked a question.

"Is it your birthday already?" a wispy voice intoned, sounding almost like dried leaves rustling in the wind.

Aria vaguely wondered how dry her throat must be before posing a question of her own.

"Do you suppose it is my birthday?"

The old woman gave a small smile, breaking Aria's heart in two. A smile in that squalid place was as impractical as laughter in hell, and yet, there it was.

The old woman answered. "Of course I do, silly girl! Why else visit your poor old mamma?"

Aria didn't have the heart to tell her she was mistaken.

"You've got me," she returned, winking as though admitting to a naughty jest. "I'm sorry for not visiting earlier, mamma. I was surprised when I didn't get any letters from you. Have you not had time to write?"

The old woman shook her head sorrowfully, causing her chains to rattle. "They took away my pen and paper, Mary. It's bad men what roams these halls, don't you know? Oh, but you don't know. But you must believe me, Mary my dear. Your mamma isn't lying. I may be mad, but I'm not a liar. Tell me you believe me! I need someone to believe me! They call me a liar! They say I'm making things up! They say I'm mad! But they's the ones who's mad, says I! They's the ones who's lost their heads!"

"It's all right, mamma," Aria reassured her, reaching through the bars and taking the poor woman's hands. "I believe you, I do. You're not lying, I know that. Please tell me, when did the bad men start doing bad things to you and the others? When did they put you here? I wish to help you, mamma, but you must tell me what has happened."

The old woman was shaking and holding on to Aria's hands like a lifeline. The pathologist couldn't help but think about her own mother still living in the wilds of America. It had been some little time since Aria had seen her, though they wrote often. She had left America to be a doctor in London, and her sister Lynn had followed not long after. The metropolitan life of England suited them both with their busy careers, but there were times when Aria found herself reminiscing about her simple upbringing, and wondering how the rest of the family was fairing. If her mother ever underwent the same treatment as this poor creature, she would have the people responsible hanged by their tongues and flogged.

Eventually, the woman began speaking again, trying her best to give Aria the answers she needed.

"It was when that new doctor came," she began, lips trembling but refusing to be silent. "The old one was not so bad, but then he left and the new doctor took over. He's a cruel one, he is. Taking us out of our cells (for that's what they were, dear, though I'd prefer them over this), he threw us in these cages. Now we don't get much food, and what we do get is bad indeed. When it's our turn for treatment, we're unlocked and dragged into bright rooms where they strap us down to beds and tables and poke us with needles and shock us with lightning. We all scream, we do, because is hurts something awful, but they never stop. They just keep at it until we go numb and see nothing. Then they bring us back here and leave us in the dark and stink."

Here the old woman paused and looked up at Aria as though ashamed. Dr. Sinclair couldn't possibly fathom why the woman should feel such a thing; the torture was hardly her fault, but she soon understood the reason.

"I know I came here to get better, my Mary, but nothing has worked. Nothing ever works. I know your mamma is an old fool; she can't do nothing right. She's not bright like you, Mary dear, but she loves you very much and wishes more than anything to be better. Maybe one day, the doctors will cure me, but until then, I'd much rather be at home with you and the farm. Please, Mary, take me home with you. I can't stand it here no more!"

Aria was fervently trying not to cry.

"I know, mamma, I know. What they've done to you is wrong - very wrong - and is no fault of yours. You haven't disappointed me, mamma. I love you very much and wish to get you out of here, but I can't do it this instant. I need to get rid of the bad doctors first, so they can't hurt you anymore, do you understand? Then after that, I can get you out of here. You have to be brave a little while longer, mamma. Can you do that for me? Can you be brave so I can get you out?"

The old woman looked as though she wanted to beg Aria to take her that very moment, but something in the young lady's eyes must have told her that was impossible. With a weak nod of the head, she consented to Aria's plan, squeezing her hands in a vain search for comfort through touch alone. Aria squeezed back, determined to give the woman what comfort she could.

"I swear to you," Aria whispered with vehemence, "I will get you out of this wretched place."

The old woman, name still unknown, nodded more vigorously. Aria rose and let the old woman's hands slip from hers, the metal of the shackles clanking noisily as she did so. It was a harsh reminder of precisely how trapped and helpless she was, while just on the other side of the bars was freedom. What a state of mind to be presented with each day.

Sending the woman one last smile which was weakly reciprocated, Aria turned to find William standing behind her. The look in his eyes was so soft that she had to take his hand in hers, squeezing it for comfort just as the old woman had done with her. He squeezed back reassuringly, as though silently vowing his allegiance to her plan of rescue. Together, they rejoined with Sebastian and left, closing and re-locking the door behind them.

Muted dread hung over them as they made their way back to William and Sebastian's room in silence. It wasn't until they had secluded themselves in said room that they began discussing the horrendous scene they had just witnessed.

"We must put a stop to this with all due haste," Aria said immediately after the door had closed behind her. "That was the most barbaric thing I have ever seen. Those poor people, being treated like animals."

"I agree whole-heartedly," William responded, crossing his arms and shaking his head. "The situation is far more dire than I ever imagined it would be."

They heard the drag of wood on wood and turned to see Sebastian sitting at the room's lone desk, paper and pen in hand.

"Composing a letter to Lord Phantomhive?" William inquired as the demon dipped his pen nub into the ebony ink.

"Indeed," Sebastian confirmed. "It is my duty to keep him apprised as to the progress of my investigation and to inform him of the presence of yourself and Dr. Sinclair. I shall have it sent out tonight."

"Very well," William replied, turning back to Aria who was standing very still by the door. Finding himself uncharacteristically concerned for her well-being, he vacillated on what to do next. Ultimately, his good heart and upbringing as a gentleman won out, and he inclined his head toward the door. "Shall I see you to your room, Aria?"

Surprised by his courtesy given what she had witnessed that night, she wasn't quick to answer. Finally, she caught herself and nodded, smiling.

"That would be lovely, William. Thank you."

He gave a soft smile, moving to the door and holding it open for her. They both passed through, leaving Sebastian to write his letter in peace. Offering her his arm which she gladly took, they leisurely made their way down the corridor and toward the staircase.

Aria was the first to break the silence.

"Thank you once again for offering to walk me to my room. I'm ashamed to admit, I was a little reluctant to make the journey myself after what we've seen tonight."

A sense of pride swept through him when he heard she felt safer in his company, but he tamped it down. Her sentiments were only natural given the horrors in this asylum. It wouldn't do to make too much out of such situations.

"It is my pleasure, I assure you," he returned, glancing down at her. To his surprise, she was looking up at him, and when their eyes met, she smiled sweetly. Embarrassed, he averted his gaze, and instantly regretted it. What she must think now...

"You are quite the gentleman, William," she continued, evidently unfazed by his misstep. "If you don't mind my saying, I'm very glad it was you who came with me on this mission. You have proven yourself to be very level-headed and resourceful. I also admire how respectful you are toward the victims of this affair. Sebastian can be a tad apathetic, so having someone who actually seems to care about the lives that have been lost is a welcome change."

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. "I don't think anybody of my acquaintance would ever accuse me of being caring," he commented, not knowing how to respond to such a compliment. Being applauded for having a kind heart was not something he had prepared himself for. Still, he didn't mind being lifted above that demon in her estimation, if only for one thing.

Aria gave a huff of a laugh. "Just because you are not as outwardly emotional as most people does not mean you do not feel and empathize with the world around you. Oftentimes it is the collected ones who feel the deepest. Some feel so deeply, in fact, that they must guard their emotions, lest they be hurt."

He pondered her words for a moment before asking, "Are you one such person, ma'am?"

Aria gave a slight smile. "Perhaps."

As they continued on in silence, William couldn't help but feel that he had found a kindred spirit.

Finally, they reached the stairs, and as they stepped onto the second storey landing, conversation began once more.

"Do you intend to assist the Undertaker in his research?" The reaper had to admit that he was not overly fond of the idea. It was clear that Aria did not at all agree with what the demented mortician was doing, and only felt the need to play along to maintain her cover.

Aria furrowed her brow and her lips dipped in a troubled frown. "It's clear I'm going to have to do something. He has already asked me for my input and ideas, so if I don't have something to show soon, he's going to get suspicious. Also, I can't very well coax him out of the asylum without a plan of action. He'll want to see a finished design before he agrees to go out and purchase supplies."

William nodded his understanding. "So you will help him with his "difficulty in design", as it were?"

"I'll probably come up with a prototype, though with any luck it will never be built."

By this time, they had arrived at her door, and Aria paused momentarily to search for the key she had stored away in her skirt pocket. When this was retrieved, she turned to William.

"I do hope our strategy works. I want so badly to help those people suffering upstairs. When this is all over, we must do something about this place."

"I understand," William sympathized, looking down at her fondly. "After the Undertaker is in custody, I'm sure Lord Phantomhive will have Carmichael sent to the gallows for his crimes, and that will allow new management to come in and fix this place. Of course, we shall have to see that the abused receive proper care."

"That woman," Aria continued. "I don't even know her name, and she placed her life in my hands. I won't let her down."

"I know that," William assured her, clasping her hands in his, "and so does she."

Aria, so thankful to have William with her through this trying time, smiled up at him gratefully.

As for William, he had been so caught up in the moment that he had practically been unaware when he took her hands in his. When he finally snapped back to his senses and saw what he had done, his first instinct was to retract his hold instantly, but then he saw her smiling again. Clearly his gesture of comfort (as that was all it was, he kept telling himself) was not disagreeable to her, so there was no reason to make her think that he found her unpleasant to be around. On the contrary, he quite enjoyed her company, and wished that they had met under different circumstances - a lifetime ago.

Deciding that his duty was done and that he had outstayed his welcome, William gently let her hands slip out of his and inclined his head respectfully.

"Goodnight, Aria. I wish you pleasant dreams."

Not wanting to keep him, Aria nodded back and said, "To you as well, William. I shall see you on the morrow."

And with that, she unlocked her door and strolled into her room, shutting it behind her. She heard the sound of William's footsteps retreating down the hall, and eventually all was silent again. Eerily so. With an exhausted sigh, she waltzed over to her dressing table and began unpinning her hair. Her dark tresses fell over her shoulders, helping to relieve some of the stress of the day. As she mindlessly moved to unbutton her collar, she paused, hands stilling over the pearlescent buttons. There was so much to do in upcoming days, and she wanted this investigation to come to a conclusion as swiftly as possible. Dropping her hands to the surface of her dressing table, she had to admit to herself that sleep would not be forthcoming tonight. Therefore, it would me more efficient to find something important to do.

Rising from her seat, she found the suitcase she had stuffed under her bed and opened it, rifling through the contents. Eventually, she found the notebook and pencil she had been looking for. With determination, she stationed herself at her writing desk and began tapping her pencil on the wood as she thought.

Clearly active investigation was out of the question. She and her cohorts had already uncovered one of the asylums largest secrets that night, and she was not willing to risk further search simply because she could not sleep. This being the case, there was only one other thing left for her to do.

Undertaker had said he had been having a difficulty of design, which she couldn't agree with more. His method for stimulating the brain was painful, cumbersome, and simply not feasible in the long run. Having to constantly recharge an animated corpse was inefficient, and entailed a long recuperation period for the poor sod being fried. Ideally, the electrical charges should be less powerful, and administered constantly. Also, the system that brought about these currents would have to be unobtrusive, hidden completely within the brain. As well as all of this, the system would have to be fairly self-sufficient, requiring minimal operation for recharging.

Biting her bottom lip in thought, she stared into space for some time, creating, in her mind, a plausible design for such a system.

Beginning to see where she had to go, she began sketching ideas into her notebook with vigor. What she had in mind for Undertaker was a device that produced a constant electrical current, and was easily recharged, meaning that it could be reused over and over again. For its design, she believed a battery model would do the trick. Clearly the chemical reactions that drives a battery's current would have to be reversible, thereby allowing the battery to be recharged and reused. This recharge would only require enough energy to drive the chemical reactions backwards, meaning that it should be relatively painless for the body.

Also, if she was able to make one small enough, it should be able to fit inside the cranium without being too obvious.

Having come up with an idea that had the potential of working, she began designing models and supposing the supplies required. If she could determine which reaction to use and the amount of chemicals needed, then she could have a blueprint to begin experimentation on by morning.

"Well," she muttered to herself, unbuttoning her cuffs and rolling up her sleeves, "let's get to work."

* * *

I bet ya'll never thought you'd see me again! Well, there's chapter 11, finally! I hope it was enjoyable! I'd just like to thank everybody for the wonderful feedback I've been getting for this story. It honestly amazes me, considering how sporadically I update, but I really love reading every comment and seeing all of the love this story has gotten. Thank you!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Black Butler is owned by Yana Toboso. I'm just playing in her colorful world.

* * *

The sky was just turning a light gray when Aria stood up from her chair to stretch and look out of her solitary window. A low mist was rolling along the ground and absolutely everything was still. Vaguely, she wondered what time it was. Birds cawed in the distance as she went to freshen up. She hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all night, deciding instead to finish the blueprints for her battery prototype, which she had, by the by. Still, a break was definitely called for.

Washing up and changing into a fresh dress, Aria felt more at peace with herself then she had in the last few days. Finally, she had accomplished something that would bring about a change in the game. With her prototype, Undertaker would finally have what he wanted, and may just be prompted into going out in the open. Though hopeful that her device would never be put into practice, she was nonetheless proud of her intellectual labors. It was a clever solution to Undertaker's problem, and she had no doubt that he would be satisfied.

Flicking her hair off of her shoulders, she sat down and began brushing her chocolate locks, pinning them in a neat up-do. Yawning at her lack of sleep, she began cleaning off the lens of her spectacles, placing them back on the bridge of her nose when she was finished. These things accomplished, she started looking around for her pocket watch in an effort to determine the time. When her fingers brushed against its metal casing, she pulled it out and popped it open. Just past five thirty in the morning.

Mildly impressed with her long night, she closed her notebook filled with manic scribblings and minute calculations. Was it too early to go down to the laboratory? She supposed, given the time of day, nobody would be down there, yet there was absolutely nothing for her to do. Really, the only thing the day called for was presenting her plan to Undertaker.

Given how eccentric the mortician was, perhaps he would already be at work. Who was to say? Tired of wandering around her room without purpose, Aria grabbed her notebook and headed out, bound for Undertaker's underground laboratory.

As expected of Stoneheart, everything was quiet and all of the employees were invisible. Because it was so early in the morning, Aria could pretend the stillness was due to the hour, but she knew better. Honestly, she couldn't wait to leave this place.

A woman on a mission, she made her way down the familiar steps to the lowest level of the asylum, to tired and focused to ponder the existence of vengeful spirits beyond the veil. When her feet finally hit rough ground, she went directly to the laboratory door and knocked. No one answered. Disappointed, she tried the handle and, finding it unlocked, swung the door open.

The room was dark and empty. Clearly the Undertaker was not in. Giving a sigh, she flipped the light switch, listening to the hum of the electricity as the power came on, illuminating the room in its unnatural glow. Everything was pretty much as she had left it the night before. The body was still laid out on the table, strapped down for good measure. Aria could perceive the slight rise and fall of the man's chest as he slept, and suddenly had no idea what to do. Was it rude to wake a sleeping corpse? These were questions she never thought she would have to ask herself. Well, she supposed resurrecting a corpse was rude in an of itself.

Rude, however, seemed a gross understatement.

Right as she was about to leave the undead man to his solitary slumber, she heard a footfall behind her and turned to see the man she had been searching for.

"Aria?" he questioned, looking confused. "What are you doing here this morning. It's not quite six yet."

"I know, but I simply couldn't wait," she said, holding up her notebook as though it explained everything.

Thankfully, Undertaker got the idea.

"You've already come up with something?" he asked, excitement creeping into his voice.

Aria nodded solemnly. "I hoped to show you my blueprints as soon as possible. I stayed up all night working on them."

Undertaker gave a look of bemusement. "You mean to say you've been up all night? Not even a thought of sleep?"

"Oh, I thought of sleep, to be sure," Aria corrected, holding back yet another yawn, "but I couldn't bring myself to act upon it. I was too caught up by my work."

"Well, that certainly sounds like you," Undertaker commented, grinning. "Please, show me these plans which warranted such dedication."

She did as he asked and opened her notebook, taking him step by step through her reasoning and method of design. He listened attentively, nodding at pertinent points and asking questions when necessary. When Aria finished her explanation, Undertaker stood thinking for a while before slowly nodding his approval.

"This is a wonderful idea, Aria," he enthused, patting her head like a child's.

She ducks out of his reach and smiles. "Marvelous," she says. "So all we need now are the supplies to build a prototype."

Undertaker nodded. "All you need do is clean up your work and begin building your device. You can go out for supplies whenever your design is completely finished."

"Of course," Aria agreed, closing her notebook and placing it under her arm. "Tell me, Undertaker, would you mind coming with me for supplies?"

The man chuckled good-humoredly, but shook his head in the negative. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be the best for me to leave the asylum at this time. What I'm doing isn't exactly legal, you see."

Aria frowned. "My part in it hardly is either. Besides, what is the point of building something for your experiments if you won't know how to build it yourself? I won't be with you forever, you know. I have an actual job out there in the real world."

Undertaker was unrelenting. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you can teach me how to build it right here after you've gathered all of the supplies. There will be no need for me to leave."

Dr. Sinclair rolled her eyes. "You are absolutely impossible. This trip is going to be so boring by myself. Furthermore, you should know where to pick up the supplies. Going out to get them yourself can only benefit you. Anyway, how many people do you think are going to recognize you? As far as I'm aware, nobody knows that you've done anything outside the bound of the law. What, are you afraid of being arrested?"

After her impassioned argument, Undertaker couldn't help but laugh. "Just admit it, Aria my dear. All you want is for me to come with you. Poor thing may have a boring carriage ride without this poor old-timer there to amuse her! How about we strike a deal? I'll send Dr. Carmichael with you. You'll have a right old time!"

"Don't you dare!" the doctor threatened, looking as though she was going to throttle the man before her. This only tickled him further.

"All right, all right," Undertaker giggled, waving her away, "I won't send our dear friend Carmichael with you, but do you really want me to go that badly?"

"If you wouldn't mind," Aria said, looking beseechingly up at him.

He gave a sigh of defeat and then smiled. "Very well. I'll go with you to pick up your precious supplies, but only after you have presented me with a completely finished project. Do we have a deal?"

Deciding that was as good as it was going to get, Aria agreed, sticking out her hand for a shake. Undertaker took it, and they sealed their pact.

"When do you think you'll be able to show me your finished plans?" the mortician asked, looking down at her.

"Tonight, I hope," she returned, earning a snicker from him.

"So confident, are we?"

"I thought you said you needed this done relatively quickly. I can delay my work for a couple of days if it so pleases you."

"No need for that," he assured her, moving toward the laboratory door. "Just don't kill yourself in the process."

"I'll try not to," she replied, exiting the laboratory as he waved her away.

Attempting to repress her palpable relief at the progress in their plans, Aria made her way back up the stairs and out of the dank atmosphere of the basement.

The closer she came to the ground floor, the more exhausted she became. Her eyelids were beginning to droop, and her yawns were becoming so excessive it was verging on impolite. When she finally reached the surface, she immediately found the closest staircase leading to the upper levels, fully intending to drop by William and Sebastian's room to inform them of the advancement in their plans before heading to her own and indulging in a well deserved nap.

As she reached the first storey landing and rounded the corner, she nearly collided with a person heading the opposite direction. Taking a step back, she let out an "Oh my!", narrowly avoiding running the man over. Though, to be quite honest, she highly doubted she would have been able to knock William down even had she kept going.

"In a hurry, are we?" William inquired, wide-eyed.

Aria let out a faint laugh. "I suppose you could say that. I was just going to seek out you and Sebastian, though it looks like it would have been a fruitless endeavor. Why are you up so early?"

"We decided that it was high time to at least look like we were doing what we had been hired to do, so we volunteered to help Mrs. Holly with her breakfast fare. The demon doesn't sleep, and I'm used to being up this early, so it is no bother."

Now that he had gotten a chance to look at her, his brow furrowed in concern. "You look like you haven't slept at all."

"That's because I haven't." She shrugged as though the revelation was of little consequence. "I found myself unable to lie down last night, so I began working on a prototype for Undertaker. That's actually what I came to see you about. I was up till the early hours of this morning finishing my idea, and I have just returned from the man's laboratory, where I showed him the blueprints I have thus far. Thankfully, he agreed to accompany me to London to fetch supplies after I have given him a finished design. It took a little convincing, but he relented in the end. I plan to show him a finished blueprint by tonight. I just wanted the two of you to know that our plans have progressed."

William was taken aback by the amount of work she had been able to finish in such a sort time. Still, he did not like how worn down she appeared to be. Indeed, her eyes were not as bright as usual, and she kept stifling yawns against the back of her hand. This simply would not do.

"I must admit, I am impressed," he began, causing her to smile at his praise. She looked so very happy to be acknowledged for her hard work that he couldn't help but find it endearing. His lips too began curving up in an imperceptible smile, but he continued on. "However, I cannot have you neglecting your sleep in such a manner. Promise me you will at least catch a few hours' sleep before finishing your project."

Aria found William's concern touching, and she told him so.

The man became mildly flustered at this, but managed to mask his discomfort well. "So long as you don't over tax yourself," he responded, trying to sound as though he didn't have any excessive interests in her health.

"I shall try, if only for your sake, William," she replied, eyes softening.

It took everything inside of him to hide how beautiful he thought that sentence had been.

"I should hope you would do it for your own sake as well," he returned, schooling his features in what he hoped was a neutral, if friendly, expression.

Aria couldn't help but notice the faint flush that colored his cheeks, however, and was unnerved to feel heat rising to her own. Perhaps a hasty retreat was in order, if only to keep her from making a fool of herself.

"Of course," she complied, making an effort to sound confident and not completely out of her depth. "In that case, perhaps I should go and rest. It wouldn't do to cause you any undue stress on my account."

William gave a quick nod of agreement. "Very well," he replied curtly. "In that case, I will see you later. Good luck tonight."

And with that, William made a swift exit down the stairs Aria had just climbed.

Taking his lead, the good doctor found the staircase leading to her floor, furthering the distance between them as they went their separate ways.

As she traversed the remaining journey separating her from her bed (which seemed to her ridiculously long), she couldn't help but analyze her reaction to William. Surely she was reading too much into his concern? He was, after all, acquainted with her sister, and wouldn't want any harm to befall her while under his care. Yet, though this was definitely a possible explanation for William's attentiveness, it didn't seem to be quite plausible. William's concern seemed to exceed the bounds of mere politeness and duty. Indeed, he even went so far as to walk her to her room last night, which was a trip she could have made safely, if uneasily, herself. To add to this, William seemed to truly enjoy her company, which was a sympathy men of his temperament would find difficult (if impossible) to fake. Taking all of this into account, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to assume that William held some sentiment other than responsibility for her.

Perhaps something much more profound.

A strange sensation blossomed in her stomach, stopping her in her tracks.

Oh.

Oh no.

If he felt that way about her, then that suggested her reactions meant she...

This could not be happening.

The man was a Grim Reaper, for the love of God! That hardly made him the most eligible bachelor! Was it really so impossible for her to take a fancy toward another man?

Then she thought of William again.

Yes, she supposed it was. William was just so unlike any other man.

She mentally scoffed at herself. Quite literally, Aria, she thought. He's not a man at all, but a Grim Reaper, and you would do well to remember that. A relationship extending beyond the bounds of friendship would be impossible.

Disheartened but at least content with having come to a decision regarding William, she continued on to her quarters, feeling even more exhausted than before. She didn't want to think about this anymore. In fact, she didn't want to think at all. She just wanted to sleep, was that too much to ask? Just to sleep and to forget, if only for a few hours.

Meanwhile, William was making his way to Mrs. Holly's kitchen in silence and in much thought. His mind was engaged in a problem startlingly similar to Aria's own, and the skein was no less difficult to untangle.

It was impossible, he decided, to pretend as though he didn't think highly of her. That fact was blaringly obvious to anybody that observed them together. His regard for her was undeniable, so he would not bother denying it. Still, it was out of the question that he feel anything other than friendship and esteem for her. She was, after all, a human, and he a reaper. She mortal, and he immortal.

The acknowledgement of this truth pained him more than he cared to admit. No, he could never be anything other than her friend, and she could never be anything other than the woman that held his highest opinion.

If only they had met before all of this. Before he...

But the past was in the past, and no amount of "if onlys" was going to change that.

If he felt anything for her, he would do so in silence. He could not possibly allow himself to love her and gain her love in return, only to watch her slowly perish before his eyes while he remained unchanged.

And he would remain unchanged. Doomed to live forever knowing that he could never be with her again, tormented by her memory.

Her observation the night before had been spot on. His emotions were fragile things, and he didn't think he could bear any more loss.

His life had always been as such.

Well, he had always known that bringing emotions into his work would be the end of him.

)*(

The tea was tolerable, he supposed, but the cakes left much to be desired. Though he appreciated that Tanaka was capable of taking over for Sebastian, nobody crafted sweets quite like the demon.

A fact the Earl found ironic.

Still, he ate the tortes without complaint. It was amusing to poke fun at Sebastian, less so at the man who was the closest thing to a grandfather he had ever had. Counting down the days until his indentured servant would be back, he set his tea cup back in its saucer, allowing Tanaka to fill it back up and add the requisite amount of sugar.

After finishing his cake, Tanaka went about clearing the china, allowing his young Master to come to similar ends with his tea. When this had been accomplished and all dishes were loaded back on the tea trolley, Ciel gave a sigh and looked up at his substitute butler expectantly.

"Have we correspondence to sort through?" the Earl asked, linking his fingers and settling his chin on the surface they provided.

"But of course," the elder servant replied, bringing out the tray of letters, business and otherwise. "It would be unheard of for the Earl of Phantomhive to receive nothing in the post."

Ciel gave a slight smile. "Yes, I suppose you are correct as usual, old man. Anything of importance, then?"

Tanaka plucked a letter from the top of the stack, handing it to the boy behind the desk. When the lad saw the fine script on the envelope, he knew instantly who it was from.

"Thank you, Tanaka," the Earl stated, reaching for his letter opener. "You may go."

"Of course, my Lord," the man returned, setting the tray of letters on the desk before exiting with the tea trolley in tow.

After the door was shut, Ciel sliced open the envelope. It was dated just last night. Of course, the regular post was much slower, but Sebastian had his ways. Inside the envelope were multiple sheets of writing. Evidently Sebastian had much to report. Unfolding the papers, Ciel began at the beginning, as one should.

 _Young Master,_

 _I am pleased to inform you that I have successfully infiltrated Stonehart Asylum. Of course, there could be no other outcome, as I am the Phantomhive butler._

Ciel shot a breath through his teeth. How typical of Sebastian to congratulate himself on paper as well as in person. It was like the impertinent man was in the room with him.

He continued.

 _My new position is that of aide, though I confess to being rather uninspired by my duties, or rather, lack thereof. Indeed, I have never once been asked to complete a task. Though I suppose it is rather nice to have a break from continual housework, it would seem that too much of a good thing can indeed be detrimental, and I find myself slipping into an inexorable tedium without anything to occupy the majority of my time._

Ciel rolled his eyes. Honestly, could this devil not write a simple letter without being a snide git throughout the whole of it? So far he had yet to read a single piece of useful information aside from the inactivity of the asylum as experienced by his butler.

Getting irritated, he continued on.

 _I must now take this opportunity to apologize, my young Lord, as it seems I have made the mistake of enlightening you as to my impressions regarding the new position I find myself in. Such a blunder is unforgivable, for I am sure someone as stately as yourself cares not for the thoughts of a lowly servant._

The Earl was on the verge of exclaiming his displeasure to the empty room when he read the next sentence.

 _Now, young Lord, you must restrain that scowl that threatens to steal over your countenance; it does absolutely nothing for your appearance. Remember, you are a stately noble - do try to behave like one._

Why that pathetic -

 _As for the information you so desire, I shall divulge all that I know._

 _I was hired without much ceremony by the redoubtable Ms. Dunne (the dour head of staff, much to everyone's dismay), who showed me directly to my (sparse) living quarters. She did a marvelous job of telling me absolutely nothing, and went about her day, leaving me to go about mine. I admit to not getting much done the first day, aside from meeting Mrs. Holly: an amiable woman who serves as cook and quite enjoys my company - but I digress._

Ciel was about to make a face once more after reading his butler's cocky words, but his actions were once again predicted with insulting accuracy.

 _I see that scowl threatening to reappear. You must learn to rein in your temper, my Lord. Patience is a virtue, as the cliché goes. Besides, I'm sure the following information will more than satisfy._

Oh, it had better, Ciel thought bitterly before reading on.

 _The next day I was given a flat mate. Do you care to guess who this mysterious new hire might be? No matter, I shall tell you anyway. It would seem that the world is indeed a small place, either that or it has a sadistic sense of humor. I was introduced to none other than our favorite harbinger of death: Mr. William T. Spears. A more acceptable flat mate than his red-headed employee would have been, but only just. As you might expect, his presence only raised my suspicions, further confirming that something was terribly wrong with this asylum._

 _Thankfully, our Mr. Spears can have good sense upon occasion, and decided that it would be wise if we exchanged reasons for being, as it were. I went first (good sense incurs lack of trust, I am afraid), and he kept his end of the bargain._

Ciel nearly dropped his letter in surprise. Spears was at the asylum? What terrible things could possibly result in a reaper investigating?

At that moment, he thought back to the investigation he had undergone at the Noah's Ark Circus some time ago. The circumstances surrounding that case had been horrendous at best. If it took that kind of brutality to bring the administrative reaper out into the field once, he rather didn't want to know what was going on in Stonehart Asylum that would call him back again.

Unfortunately, it was his business to know. He could never let the Queen down, loyal dog that he was.

Feeling ill at ease, he went back to the letter.

 _And this, my young Lord, is where things get interesting._

 _It would seem our Mr. Spears had intel that pointed to the presence of a certain mortician at the asylum. I do not jest, my Lord. The Undertaker is indeed walking the halls of Stonehart, though I have yet to see him in person. How can I be certain, you ask? Well, the source of this intelligence is one that both you and I have reason to trust. Dr. Aria Sinclair's word does tend to hold sway with us. Oh, but I see I have surprised you yet again. Yes, this investigation has become far more complex than I ever imagined it would._

This time, instead of dropping the missive, the young Earl grasped more tightly to it, wrinkling the pages and producing a crumpling sound.

Undertaker was involved in this as well? He supposed that explained Spears's presence, as Undertaker's actions would be reaper business, but Aria? How on earth did she fit into this?

 _Did you know our dear Dr. Sinclair has a reaper relative? Either way, the Undertaker contacted her in a rather macabre way and she thought it wise to inform the reapers grim of the situation. As it is, she is undercover posing as a collaborator to his experiments, and he has no notion of our presence._

A reaper relative? As far as he knew, Aria's only family in London was her younger sister, Dr. Lynn Sinclair, who was most decidedly human. The rest of her family lived in the United States. What on earth was going on?

Though he supposed Undertaker contacting her did not require a huge stretch of the imagination. They had worked together in the past, after all. Still, Ciel was surprised that Undertaker would so willingly give out his location. Surely he hadn't actually thought the Doctor would condone his monstrosities?

He returned to the letter, more than a little bewildered.

 _This would be where I interject a request, though I am positive you shall comply. The three of us (we are cooperating, if you'll believe) have agreed that the only way to subdue Undertaker would be to get him out of the asylum at the request of Dr. Sinclair, but Spears is afraid for her safety. If it isn't too much trouble, might I take it upon myself to safeguard her? Surely you have no need of my services so urgently what with the competent staff you have back at the manor, and I know how fond you are of the Doctor. I await your consent._

Ciel nearly snorted. Competent staff indeed. The blasted maid nearly toppled an entire bookcase in the library while dusting earlier that day. She had been so contrite about it, however, that he had found it difficult to become too cross with her. In fact, he was almost impressed that she had gotten it to sway at all, considering how heavy it was.

Sarcastic statement aside, all of the other points Sebastian made had been correct. He was rather fond of Aria, and would rather nothing untoward happen to her. He was running out of sensible acquaintances as it was, no need to forfeit another one. Indeed, he would send his consent for Sebastian to serve as her temporary bodyguard.

What interested him more, however, was his clear desire to do so. Sebastian was a marvelous servant, but he clearly only did his duties due to the stipulations of the contract. Aside from that, he rarely if ever volunteered to do anything. In fact, at times he made a point not to do something without an express order simply to nettle him. This, though, was completely outside of his contract and only affected Ciel in that he was fond of the Doctor. To add to that, Spears was concerned for her safety?

Indeed, this was an interesting development.

Intrigued, he glanced back down at the paper in his hands.

 _To continue, we have discovered that the poorest patients of the asylum are being kept as prisoners in the upper levels of the building, serving as lab rats for Undertaker's experiments. They are in terrible condition, I must say, and their minds are most probably all but gone. Still, Dr. Sinclair insists on helping them, so we shall do what we can._

Ciel gave a small smile. Aria would try to save the unsalvageable. It was so like her. One must never give up until all alternatives have been exhausted. Then, if necessary, one must create new ones. He had no doubt she would ensure that every victim of this affair received the proper treatment, whether or not they were a lost cause.

 _As far as Undertaker's intentions go_ (the letter went on), _we have hypothesized that he is attempting to bring reason to his dolls. The method is long and complex. Suffice it to say that he is going about it by providing continual stimulation to the brain. This is where his need of Dr. Sinclair comes in. He requires her to help him design a device that would provide this stimulation without being noticeable. A hefty demand, but nothing our dear Doctor cannot handle._

 _That is everything of importance that has occurred thus far._

 _Awaiting your reply,_

 _S. Michaelis_

With the steady hand of one used to the evils of the world, Ciel set the letter down on his desk and leaned back in his chair to think. Clearly, the situation was much more dire than had been imagined. When he had sent Sebastian away to investigate, he had not anticipated this type of development. Typically, he would be present at the scene to give immediate instruction as he saw fit. Sadly, he did not have that power in this instance. Sebastian may be able to fathom letters to him in a single night, but Ciel did not have the powers of Hell at his beck and call. He would have to use more conventional means.

Taking out a small strip of paper, Ciel began writing his brief reply to his butler. Along with giving Sebastian consent to watch over Aria's safety, he also made a demand that his demon wouldn't go rogue now that he was not under his immediate supervision.

When he was done, he rang for Tanaka who showed up promptly, inquiring after his needs.

"Send this out by carrier pigeon at once," the young boy instructed, rolling up the paper and handing it to his trusted servant.

"Understood, my Lord," Tanaka replied, bowing at the waist. "And where specifically am I to send it?"

"Stonehart Asylum," Ciel responded, looking grave. "Let's hope our feathered friend makes all haste."

)*(

"They were what?" Carmichael practically hissed the question at his head of staff after her upsetting news.

"Snooping upstairs, sir. I found them loitering outside the door."

Ms. Dunne was as expressionless and impersonal as ever, her countenance not betraying even a glimmer of emotion. Her actions, however, showed irrefutably where she placed her loyalties. No one of her acquaintance would be surprised to find out that she was a tattletale. Though looks can be deceiving, in the case of Ms. Dunne, they were simply a warning. The interior was just as colorless and unpleasant as the exterior.

"And why didn't you inform me of this earlier?" Carmichael went on, seething as he paced the floor of his office. Ms. Dunne's exterior calm only succeeded in aggravating him further. It galled him that the detestable woman wasn't cowering in his presence, wasn't sniveling away as she tried excuse after excuse on him to lessen his anger and her punishment. In fact, the old crone refused to show even the slightest hint of remorse for her inaction. It was like talking to a mannequin, only he imagined one of them would provide better company.

"You were busy, sir," she replies simply, as though it were the most understandable answer in the world.

Carmichael bristled at her insolence. Rounding on her, he thrust out an accusatory finger, face reddening in anger his body could no longer contain. "Listen here you contemptible cow," he practically shouted, storming toward her staunch figure. When he finally ceased his march, he was so close that when he continued his speech, flecks of spittle rained on her face. "I will not tolerate this lackadaisical performance any longer! Why do you think I brought you here to be my head of staff? Was it for you to while your days away with needlework and neglect your duties? Well, was it?"

"No, sir," she answered quietly, casting her eyes downward.

It wasn't much, but what little it was pleased Carmichael's need for cowering submission. In part, that is.

"I should think not," he shot, narrowing his eyes harshly at the woman before him. "If you ask me, Ms. Dunne," he went on, encouraged by his minor victory, "I would say that you are a most useless employee. Being unable to guard a door all the way on the ninth floor... Did you even attempt to deter them from venturing upstairs? Better still, why didn't you do a thorough investigation of their backgrounds? Granted, bringing in that sow Sinclair was Undertaker's idea, but you were in charge of the rest of the staff. What possessed you to hire them in the first place?"

At first Ms. Dunne thought the question rhetorical, but when he raised an eyebrow as though impatient for a response, she was compelled to answer.

"People were getting suspicious," she stated plainly, sounding less confident now. "I thought it would help our image if we hired some new faces."

"You didn't think that perhaps the new faces themselves were the suspicious ones?" The words were practically spat at her.

Seeing that he had sufficiently broken her spirit, he drew to a close with a scathing finale. "I don't know why I brought you along with me. Poor, austere, friendless Mary Dunne. So devoted to me, so eager to please. Yet here you are, not a jewel in my crown, but a millstone around my neck. If only I had not taken pity on you, but left you in that wretched farm where I found you."

Her body was trembling now, but she didn't make a sound. Exasperated by this lack of response, he finally tired of the game and strode to the door. "I'm going to discuss your folly with Undertaker and see what is to be done. Be a good little dog and do your two best tricks: sit and stay."

And with a fling of his arm, he was out the door, slamming it behind him. His heavy footfalls echoed down the hall for a time, but eventually faded into silence.

In the solitude of Stoneheart Asylum, Mary Dunne fell to her knees and sobbed.

* * *

And here's another chapter for all of you patient people who, honestly, deserve so much more. Thank you again for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Black Butler. The characters and canonical plot line are the works of Yana Toboso.

* * *

Aria's eyelashes fluttered as she slowly began to awaken from her slumber. Bleary-eyed, and still fighting her way out of the land of dreams, she sat up in her bed and reached blindly for her spectacles. She didn't know how bad the reapers' eyesight really was, but she doubted her vision was that much better. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she placed her glasses on the bridge of her nose and glanced absently around the room. From the look of the sky outside, it seemed to be an hour or two past noon.

Very unwilling to leave her warm bed, but very aware that she had to, Aria slumped her shoulders and threw the covers back. When she finally hopped out, her feet hit the cold wood floor and she shivered. Quickly sliding on her slippers, she walked over to her writing table and sat down, flipping open her notebook.

A few hours was all the time she had left, and she needed to make sure her design was perfect. If it wasn't, the ambush would be delayed until she produced acceptable work, and who knew how many people would perish in the interim. With a sigh, she grabbed her pencil and started perfecting her work.

)*(

"I can't thank you gentlemen enough," Mrs. Holly enthused as the last of the plates was dried and put away. "Breakfast service went by ever so much faster than usual."

"Think nothing of it, Mrs. Holly," Sebastian returned, smiling sweetly. "It is our pleasure to help such a kind hearted woman as yourself."

The woman giggled to herself, a blush of delight coloring her cheeks.

"Do stop teasing me, Mr. Marlowe," she laughed, batting her hand. "I'm afraid I am far too old for you."

Sebastian gave a gracious bow of his head. "It is a pity, I confess. Women of your age are so much more refined."

This brought about another volley of amused chuckling from the boisterous cook.

Meanwhile, William was silently cleaning off the counter.

"Oh, Mr. Carton!" Mrs. Holly exclaimed once she saw what he was doing. "You needn't worry yourself over that! You have already helped me so much today, I couldn't possibly have you do all of the work!"

William simply continued his ministrations and stated, "It is no bother, Mrs. Holly. I am nearly done as it is."

The older woman smiled fondly. "You are such a sweetheart, young man. A shame you have to be stuck all the way out here with nary a soul to talk to aside from me. Well, at least you have Mr. Marlowe as a companion. It certainly is good the two of you get along so well."

The reaper tried his level best not to grimace. "Yes," he replied, "I suppose so."

Sebastian, in good spirits as usual, added, "I assure you, we are the best of friends. I thank the heavens every day that Mr. Carton was hired so soon after I arrived. Life would be terribly dull without him."

Refusing to let the demon get to him, William laid his rag aside and straightened up to his full height. "The counter is clean, Mrs. Holly. Thank you for giving us something to do; work has been surprisingly infrequent as of late."

The cook nodded sympathetically. "I can imagine so. What with the leave of so many of our former patients, I don't know why Ms. Dunne felt the need to hire two more aides. I'm grateful for it, however. You two have been the best of company." Then, thinking, she added, "I know that the both of you have done so much for me today already, but would you mind doing me one more favor?"

A frown was now replacing the permanent smile she wore, and William couldn't find it in himself to refuse. Besides, it wasn't like he had much else to do.

"Of course, Mrs. Holly. What do you need?"

Turning around, she picked up a small cloth that had two cookies bundled inside. With a slight smile she said, "I made my husband a batch of cookies last night and had some left over. I was just wondering if you could deliver these to the young lady at the front desk. Her name is Gertrude Davenport. The poor thing was only hired a few weeks ago, and she still hasn't come out of her shell. I'm hoping these will help cheer her up. I would take them myself, only I have to start preparing for dinner."

William nodded, accepting the parcel. "It is no trouble."

Mrs. Holly beamed once more. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Carton! You are a gem, you are!"

"I wouldn't go that far," William returned, "but I am happy to do this service."

Mrs. Holly shook her head. "There is no complimenting you I see. Nevertheless, I am grateful."

Running out of things to say, William rolled his sleeves down and stated, "I suppose I'll be going now."

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Holly said, nodding.

"I shall accompany you," Sebastian commented, fixing his sleeves as he went to join William.

"I'll leave it to the both of you, then," Mrs. Holly announced, heading toward the cupboard. "Again, you have my thanks."

"As you have ours," Sebastian returned, following William out the door.

They could hear Mrs. Holly humming to herself as they made their way back to the front of the asylum.

"Such a kind man you are, Mr. Carton," Sebastian mocked as they walked down the deserted corridor. "Tell me, are you always so accommodating?"

"I had no reason to refuse her," William stated in his usual monotone.

Sebastian smirked. "Indeed."

After a moment of silence, William asked, "Why did you accompany me? I highly doubt your motives were altruistic ones."

Sebastian chuckled. "Simply practical ones, I am afraid. I am expecting a reply from my Master, and intend to step outside to retrieve it."

"Earl Phantomhive has carrier pigeons?" William inquired, sounding vaguely surprised.

"Earl Phanotmhive has many things," Sebastian said. "He deemed carrier pigeons a necessity in his line of work, and I commend him on his foresight. An answer by post would have taken far too long."

"Quite," William agreed.

Their conversation ended when they entered the main room. It seemed a sin to break the ubiquitous quiet. They found Miss Davenport where she usually was, sitting meekly behind the front desk. This time, however, her attention was occupied. A sheet of paper was being clutched in both of her hands, and she appeared to be reading intently. When William and Sebastian reached her desk, she glanced up at them and started, dropping the letter on the floor.

William assumed she was going to pick it up, but she did no such thing. Instead, she stood over it, wringing her hands. Coming to the conclusion that she wasn't going to say anything, he lifted the parcel of cookies and stated, "A gift from Mrs. Holly."

For a moment she looked confused, but eventually caught herself and accepted the present.

"I shall thank her later," she muttered, untying the cloth and peeking at the goodies inside.

"I'm sure she will appreciate that," William responded. "Well, I suppose I shall leave you to your letter."

Turning to Sebastian he said, "I'm going back upstairs."

"Very good," the demon replied. "I shall take some air outside."

Inclining his head to Miss Davenport, Sebastian spun on his heel and exited the asylum.

William took this opportunity to take his leave as well. He retreated upstairs where he squirreled himself away in his quarters, book in hand. It had been decades since he had been allowed so much free time, and he didn't intend to waste it. Settling down on his bed, he crossed his ankles and pulled back the cover.

 _It was the best of times, it was the worst of times._

)*(

The sun had set by the time Aria Sinclair was satisfied. After she had finished the blueprints, she had practiced her presentation. Typically, she wouldn't bother practicing for a casual research collaboration, but this was different. She needed Undertaker to be enthusiastic about her idea; she needed him to love it. Nothing short of excited admiration would get him out of the asylum, so she would ensure that level of excitement by pulling every persuasive technique in the book.

The presentation would be immaculate.

Gathering her notes and straightening up her hair (appearance was important), she headed down to the laboratory: a procedure that was becoming far too commonplace for her liking. The trip down the crumbling stairs was quick and uneventful, and before she knew it she was knocking at the laboratory door. In a matter of seconds, the portal was being opened for her by a face she hadn't particularly wanted to see.

"Ah, Dr. Sinclair," Dr. Carmichael greeted, standing aside to let her in.

She entered the room silently, a strange feeling coming over her. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised to see Dr. Carmichael here. He was Undertaker's research partner, after all, and it only made sense that he was here to see what she had com up with. Still, he had gotten the impression that the two men did not exactly get along, and she knew for a fact that Carmichael was no where near fond of her. That being the case, she was less than pleased to see him. She only hoped he didn't ask any stupid questions after her presentation.

After the door had been securely shut, she turned to the rest of the room where she saw Undertaker leaning against the far wall, grinning at her.

"Hello there, dearie," he began pushing himself up to a standing position. "Are you ready to astound me with your brilliance?"

She saw him glance over her shoulder at Carmichael and was finally able to name that strange feeling that had taken hold of her the moment she had entered the room: suspicion.

"Of course," she said, trying to keep her expression clear of any misgivings. "Let's begin."

The next hour consisted of her explaining her design and answering Undertaker's many and varied questions. The man didn't disappoint when it came to eccentricity. His questions ranged from intelligent and insightful to inquiring about her favorite foods and choice of dress. With patience and occasional eye-rolls, she answered every question posed to her. Interestingly enough, Dr. Carmichael remained completely silent throughout the entire interview.

When this procedure was over, Undertaker too became silent, but his was a pondering one.

Aria waited patiently, gathering her notes and putting them back in order. She knew that the next phase of their plan counted on Undertaker's decision. Per usual, she acted entirely calm and almost bored as she awaited his response. Still, after a few minutes went by without a word, she was beginning to wonder just when that response would come.

Carmichael seemed to be thinking the same thing, as he kept glancing over at his partner anxiously. Clearly the decision was not his to make, and Undertaker wasn't going to give him a chance to sway his opinion.

Just when Aria was going to ask him what he thought, the Undertaker looked up at her.

"This could work," he said, looking entirely earnest. "This could actually solve my problem."

Before she could say she was glad he was pleased, she was wrapped in a startlingly strong bear hug that lifted her from the ground.

"This was just what I was hoping for," the Undertaker said excitedly, swaying her from side to side. Aria had no choice but to wait for his enthusiasm to abate. From the look on Carmichael's face, it seemed like he was more frightened by the mortician's outburst than she was.

Finally, the silver-haired man set her back on the ground and began shaking her hand vigorously. "I knew calling you in was the right thing to do. I knew you would help me."

Aria gave a convincing smile. "I do what I can," she said.

Undertaker smiled back, but it was more restrained. "Well, it seems as though we'll have to go get supplies."

"Marvelous," Aria exclaimed. "When do you want to head out?"

"First thing tomorrow morning," the man answered. "Don't be late."

"I would never dream of it," she returned.

"Good," he stated, walking her to the door. "Then you had better get some sleep. I don't want you passing out on me in the carriage. I've worked with corpses for a long time, but I prefer conversation when I travel."

"Funny," Aria muttered, exiting the laboratory. "I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Of course," he said, suddenly looking lost for words. Aria raised an eyebrow before he said, "Goodnight, Aria," and shut the door.

"Odd," she murmured to herself as she turned to go back upstairs. Still, the Undertaker was always odd.

Stonehart was eerily silent, but that was to be expected. It unsettled her how quickly she was becoming used to such a place as this. Thankfully, all of that was about to come to an end. Tomorrow, she and Undertaker would be waylaid on their journey to London, and then the notorious reaper would be taken into custody. After that, Dr. Carmichael would be arrested and the patients being caged and tortured would be set free and provided with the care they so desperately needed. Everything would be over tomorrow.

She kept going through these reassurances until she found herself at William and Sebastian's door. After knocking, she was shown in by Sebastian, who closed the door quietly behind her. The sight she saw was strangely normal and comforting.

A single lamp on the central table cast a warm glow throughout the room, its unsteady light making shadows dance on the walls. William was sitting on his bed, back against the headboard, utterly absorbed in a Dickens novel. Aria smiled to see that it was _A Tale of Two Cities_ , and belatedly understood why he had chosen his pseudonym. Even Sebastian had a book laid out on his bed. This one, she noted, was also a Dickens novel. Walking toward it, he picked up the copy of _Great Expectations_ and closed it, setting the tome on the table by the lamp.

"Mr. Spears told me of your presentation," Sebastian began, glancing at William who had also laid his book aside. "How did it go?"

"Swimmingly," Aria informed them. "We're leaving for London first thing in the morning."

"Very good," Sebastian said, looking satisfied with the news. "Then this should all end tomorrow."

"I should hope," she sighed tiredly. "I can't wait to get out of this place."

"I do believe we all share that sentiment," the demon remarked. Then, "Will you contact your coworkers, Mr. Spears?"

"Yes," William answered, swinging his legs around and off the bed. "I shall send a message directly."

The next moment, he was jotting out a brief note on a narrow length of paper. "This should reach them tonight," he stated, rolling it up.

"I see you also utilize our antiquated delivery system," Sebastian noted aloud.

"It is the fastest way," William commented.

Stepping toward the window, the reaper pulled a small whistle from his pocket and sent out a measured sequence of shrill notes. Slipping the metal instrument back in its place, he waited patiently for a response. Remarkably, one wasn't long coming. In but a few minutes, a gray pigeon had perched on the window sill, its head jerking about quickly as it viewed its surroundings. William picked the creature up and attached the note to one of its legs. Surprisingly, the animal didn't seem to mind and was content to stay still until William had finished his work. When he had, he lifted the bird out of the window and gave it a boost into the night sky. In a flutter of wings, the avian was gone, already carrying its message to reaper headquarters.

Aria was impressed by how swiftly this was done and remarked upon it.

"We have a number of trained pigeons scattered about the country," William explained. "It helps when we need to contact headquarters immediately. The creatures are taught to answer to a sequence of calls at a specific frequency. It's quite effective."

"Fascinating," Aria murmured. She couldn't help but notice how the reaper seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her. Curious. What was wrong with him?

"An intriguing system," Sebastian input. "Let's hope our feathered friend does not go astray. We shall need all the help we can get."

"Indeed," William agreed, moving to sit on his bed once more.

Aria smiled. "I see you are both fond of Dickens."

"Actually," Sebastian corrected, "Mr. Spears has an affinity for that particular author. He was kind enough to lend me one of his own books to pass the time."

The doctor was surprised to hear this. "I'm proud the two of you are sharing," she stated.

William frowned. "I simply wanted to make sure he did not go wandering about on his own. Besides, even a demon can benefit from the works of Dickens."

"Truly, our bespectacled friend has a charitable spirit, wanting to enlighten the demonic masses," Sebastian mocked, picking up his borrowed tome. "Maybe after all of these centuries my soul will be saved after all."

"Your sarcasm is in poor taste," William sneered, reaching for his own book. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected a being such as yourself to recognize talent when he read it."

Sebastian smirked and turned to Aria. "Have you ever read Dickens, my dear?"

"I am acquainted with a few of his works," the doctor responded.

"And your synopsis?" the demon pressed.

"I enjoyed them. His cynicism resonates with me."

She saw William smile out of the corner of her eye, but he said nothing.

"Well, I suppose with your recommendation, I shall have to press on," Sebastian relented, flipping the book open and turning back to the page where he had left off. Then, sitting down on his bed, he asked, "Would you like a book, dear? Perhaps Mr. Spears has another one tucked away somewhere."

Aria shook her head. "No, thank you. I'm planning on going back down to the basement. There are some locked rooms down there and I want to inspect them before we head out tomorrow. I simply hope Undertaker isn't still down there in an hour or two. Reapers do sleep, don't they?"

She had seen her sister sleep at times that dated after her transformation, but she didn't know if it was a necessary function.

"Yes, reapers require sleep," William confirmed. "For all that the Undertaker is eccentric, he must rest sometime."

"Good," Aria said, turning toward the door and twisting the knob. "I'll leave you gentlemen to your reading, then. I shall see you tomorrow."

"Yes," Sebastian returned. "Goodnight, Doctor."

"Goodnight," she replied, leaving them.

From there she made her way to her room where she waited some time before grabbing her lock-picking tools and heading back down to the basement, praying all the while that she would not run into Undertaker. Thankfully, she was in luck, for when she got down there, Undertaker was no where to be seen, and Carmichael had also flown the coop.

The basement was dark and ominous, as it typically was, and the torches on the wall that remained lit provided shifting, unreliable illumination. No light could be seen spilling from under the laboratory door, and all around was completely silent.

Not daring to speak lest she be caught, Aria examined the locked doors on her left. It was already late, and she had to be up early tomorrow, meaning that she didn't have all night to inspect every room. This being the case, she was going to have to pick which rooms to investigate with care. Looking at the ground, the doctor attempted to see which door was opened most often. The first three doors showed no signs of such use. The fourth door, however, was of more interest. She could make out faint scratches and wood shavings in an arc where the door would swing open, clearly showing that this room was used with some frequency. Also, the lock seemed less rusted than the others, also pointing to the fact that the door was regularly opened. Deciding that this would be the best place to start her investigation, Aria knelt down and began her ministrations on the lock.

It wasn't as complex as the one on the padlocked door from the night before, but it was of sufficient quality to take her some little time in opening. Eventually, though, it gave in under her skill and the bolt drew back. Rising, Aria pulled open the heavy wooden door, pausing occasionally when the ancient thing groaned on its hinges. When it was opened enough to allow her to slip inside, she entered the darkened room, lighting the lantern she had brought with her. And a good thing she did bring one too.

This room, unlike Undertaker's laboratory, did not have electricity wired throughout, and seemed to rely on the same torches that were posted at intervals on the walls in the hallway. Dust and dirt had gathered in significant quantities on the floor, coming up in clouds as she made her way further inside. More than once, she had to hold back a sneeze that threatened to shatter the stillness. This lack of cleanliness did help in some respect, however. For on the ground, imprinted firmly in the grim, were footprints, and they were recent. Some old ones could be seen alongside them, a thin layer of dust beginning to cover them once more. All of these footprints, old and new, seemed to be headed toward the same place. Making sure to keep her own footprints inside the latest ones on the floor, she followed them into the blackness of the room.

Her trip wasn't long, but it took her some time as she took care not to leave her own footprints in the dust. Eventually, the tracks led to their destination, and Aria was a tad shocked by what she discovered.

Six coffins were leaning up against the back wall, all in a perfect row. Aria noticed that the head coffin was a good deal larger than the five that followed it, meaning that it was made for someone with a more imposing stature. Indeed, the first coffin was undoubtedly made for a man. The other five she couldn't be quite sure about. Perhaps they were built for women, perhaps adolescent men, there really was no use in speculating.

Stepping closer, Aria leaned toward the first coffin and knocked on the lid. Her knock was dull and short, meaning that the coffin was most definitely not empty. She did this procedure with the five others and found that all of them had someone inside.

How bizarre, Aria thought. Undertaker didn't have need for coffins here at Stonehart. The bodies he received were promptly experimented on and strung up on the walls of his laboratory. There would be no final rest for his lab rats, only eternal neglect and damnation. Why, then, did he have six occupied coffins resting in another room? Most probably, she hypothesized, these bodies are special. They were put in these coffins as a distinction from the others, and were likely more important. She couldn't for the life of her understand why.

At first she supposed that these bodies were his most successful experiments, but that didn't sound quite convincing. If he already had greatly successful experiments, he wouldn't have asked for her assistance. Perhaps, then, the bodies weren't important because of Undertaker, but due to their own merit. That was interesting. In that case, these bodies could be notable individuals who deserved special care. Still, for these bodies to be here, then that meant that they had something to do with Undertaker's research. Indeed, she had no doubt that the mortician planned to operate on them, if he hadn't already. Then what on earth was going on?

Suddenly, a thought struck her. A very unpleasant one. Perhaps, her mind rushed on, these were notable figures of society that he planned to resurrect for someone. A chill suddenly came over her as she reflected on the implications of this possibility. Undertaker could be hiring out his services, if only to obtain more bodies to experiment on.

A sense of dread overtook her, and she wanted nothing more than to look inside those coffins and see if she could identify the bodies by sight. Sadly, doing so would leave obvious traces of breaking and entering, and she didn't have the luxury of getting caught. To be sure, if Undertaker found out about her actions, that trust would be shattered instantly and there would probably be no way of catching him again.

Bottling up her frustration, she backtracked out of the room and shut the door, locking it securely. She had time to investigate a couple other rooms before she needed to get to bed. Determined to make the most out of the time she had left, she inspected the other doors and went about her work. Unfortunately, there was nothing else of note in any of the other rooms, making continued searching a fruitless endeavor. Feeling a sense of exhaustion come over her, she decided it was time to get on to bed. She didn't want to be tired in the morning when she required all her wits about her.

)*(

"What are you two giggling about?" Ronald asked, not liking being out of the loop. "When you two laugh to yourselves it puts me on edge."

Lynn shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing I can do about that, Ronald. Sounds like a classic case of paranoia."

This instigated another bout of conspiratorial snickering that the blonde did not appreciate.

Rolling his eyes, Ronald sat down at the circular booth with the couple. Lynn and Grell were both dressed to the nines, as they were wont to be when they went out together. The crimson haired grim reaper was sipping on bubbling red wine, while his partner in crime was treating herself to the white variety.

"What brings the two of you out here?" Ronald asked, taking a swig of his beer. "I thought you weren't particularly fond of bars."

"We're not, as a rule," Grell remarked, flipping his lustrous hair off of his shoulder and setting down his glass. "But we're here on business, so it can't be helped."

"Business?" Ronald sounded unconvinced. "I don't see anything businesslike about what you're doing."

Grell shook his head, as though dismayed by Ronald's inadequate assessment of the situation. "Lynn and I were just scoping out our work."

"Scoping out your work?" the blonde repeated, still not following.

Grell sighed. "Really, Ronald! Are you always so daft? Our work, of course!" Here he pointed to a couple sitting at a two person table across the room from them.

Ronald followed Grell's pointing finger until his eyes landed on said couple. "Is that Cynthia and Clarence?" he asked dumbly, realization dawning on him. "Wait, did the two of you set them up?"

"We knew you'd get there one day," Lynn teased, lips curling up in a pleased smile. "Grell and I thought the two of them would be perfect together, and simply had to see for ourselves how their date went."

Ronald took another gulp of his beer, wiping his mouth off with his sleeve. Grell wrinkled his nose in disgust, but didn't say anything.

"So the two of you are stalking them." It was a statement, not a question, and Grell got irritated.

"We are not stalking them, imbecile," he shot back vehemently. "We are merely observing to see if we are good matchmakers. This was a practice run, and if we aren't absolutely perfect, then we need to know and fix our methods before we tackle our biggest challenge."

Ronald raised his eyebrows. "This is starting to sound a little serious," he commented, setting his beer down. "In any case, they look like they're having a good time, so your methods must be sound enough."

The couple looked pleased by this praise, and clinked their wine glasses together in a toast to their success.

Just before Ronald could ask what the biggest challenge was, someone plopped down on the booth beside him. The blonde looked over casually to see that Eric had joined them, glass of rum in hand.

"I'd bet anything that the three of you are up to no good," the newcomer said, swirling his drink in his glass before taking another swallow.

Ronald put up a hand in his defense. "It's not me, I swear. These two are the ones you have to look out for; I'm just an innocent bystander."

Eric snorted. "While I don't doubt their duplicity, I have never come across a situation where you were just an innocent bystander, Ron."

"That hurts, Eric, it really does," Ronald whined, leaning forward to prop his elbow on the table. "This time, however, you've got me wrong. They're sitting here watching Cynthia and Clarence chat it up because they're the ones that got them together. I just saw them and thought I'd join their party."

Eric looked across the room and spied the couple in question before turning back to Ronald. "Wouldn't that make you a stalker as well?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Nah," the blond replied, batting the inquiry away. "If I'm a stalker, then so are you, and you would never admit to that."

"I suppose you have a point there," Eric conceded taking another swig of rum and reveling in the burn as it slid down his throat. "Ah," he sighed, satisfied. "Nothing like a good drink after a long day of work."

"You got that right," Ronald agreed, smiling.

"Glad the two of you could join us," Lynn commented. "If Alan were here, our regular party would be complete."

Eric nodded. "Yeah, but the poor kid had to help somebody with their paperwork. Ever since Spears has been gone, he's had to help fix everybody's mistakes. Kid's going to work himself to death."

"Alan is a sweetheart," Grell input, "but he should take a break every once in a while. Nobody can out work William."

"Amen to that," Eric responded, leaning back against the cushion of the booth. "I told Al we'd be here, so hopefully he'll show up when he's done."

"I'm sure he'll drop in," Lynn assured him. "It's been a while since we've all gone out together."

Ronald nodded. "We need to do something as a group sometime instead of just running into each other at the bar closest to dispatch."

"Yeah, I'll contact you the next time I get a day off," Eric said sarcastically.

Ronald frowned. "Spoil sport."

Just then, the bell over the pub door tinkled and Alan stepped into the establishment. Eric caught his attention and waved him over, leaning forward as the young man slid into the booth beside Grell.

"My, don't you look bloody serious," Eric commented, flagging down a waiter and ordering a gin and tonic for the man.

Alan thanked him, but still didn't look particularly happy.

"Something the matter?" Eric inquired, furrowing in brows.

Alan took out a slip of paper. "I just received this from dispatch," he explained, handing it across the table to Eric. "It's from Mr. Spears. Evidently, we're needed at Stonehart at first light tomorrow. Dr. Sinclair has convinced the Undertaker to take a trip to London with her, and we are to ambush him on the way."

Lynn suddenly looked nervous. "But couldn't Aria get caught in the crossfire? This doesn't sound safe."

"That's what I thought," Alan stated, taking his gin and tonic from the waiter. "Apparently the Phantomhive butler is there as well, and has promised to ensure her safety."

Lynn grimaced. "Damn demon. What is he doing there?"

"Investigating, I presume," Alan shrugged, sipping his beverage. "Either way, we're to cooperate with him tomorrow."

Grell was beaming. "I do so adore any chance to see Bassy!" he exclaimed, couple stalking suddenly forgotten.

Lynn rolled her eyes, causing Grell to smile and sling an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, dear. I am utterly devoted to you. Still, I can appreciate a fine specimen when I see one."

"As you say," Lynn stated. "I guess we'll both be looking."

They both broke out into laughter over their shared perversity.

"Cretins," Eric mumbled under his breath, not looking forward to having to work alongside a demon. He had never actually met Sebastian Michaelis, but according to Ronald (whose testimony be trusted to be less biased than Grell's), the man was a looker and could kick ass with the best of them. Perhaps having him on their side this time would be a good thing.

Alan looked exhausted, and sat in silence as he nursed his drink.

Ronald was too busy poking fun at Lynn and Grell to give a mind to anything else, and for his part, Eric was content to keep his thoughts to himself. Best not to spoil a decent night with talk of demons and crazed morticians.

* * *

And Chapter 13.


End file.
